Fancy a Slice of life?
by Mirae-no-sekai
Summary: Small One-shots centered around some of my WoW characters. Based off the 100-word challenge by babybrowns on DA, enjoy!
1. Heroine

A.N. - I'm trying these "100 word challenges" with my characters in WoW :) Some of them have been re-named for this fics. And now, without further ado, here we go and enjoy the read!

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><p>Rouhanne had always wanted to be a heroine. At first, it had been to escape the picturesque "slums" of Silvermoon with her brother. Then, it had been to earn herself a name – to make the whole of Azeroth react to her own name being called, be it for elation or fear.<p>

Now, a paladin of the sin'dorei … she still wants to be a heroine. Because no matter how many foes she slays, maidens she rescue, people she aids …

There are still boys and girls in the "slums" of Silvermoon City. And her tales haven't reached them yet.


	2. Proposition

A.N. – Yes, this whole challenge will include more than one character

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><p><em>"So… you want me to do what exactly?"<em>

_The night elven priestess could not quite wrap her head around that quest. Had the elder priestess really said-_

_"Go eliminate the corrupted ones. They are out of Elune's hands, let alone ours. At least grant them a dignified demise."_

_She was fearful – so far gone already? Demons? What else? With a heavy step, muttering stings of sing-song prayers, she half-glided away._

Much, much later, Mirae would look back on the naïve young rookie she was before. And remember why she chose the healer's path so soon.

The propositions, quests, missions she got sent on would not always be to destroy.


	3. Fantasy

"Viasha?"

"What now, Meilea?" Waiting for an answer had never been the mage's strong point. Luckily, this time the other female had fully formed her thought before asking.

"Do you think that we are stuck in someone else's fantasies? That our world is merely artificial?"

_This shaman will be the end of me…. _Viasha just looked at Meilea, tilting her head to the side and a quizzical expression on her face. The receiver of said gaze also tilted her head, and made to poke at the mage.

"You okay there? That really wasn't such a ground-breaking thought…"

"Just… no, this world is real." _How can it not be?_


	4. Lock and Key

Xishori would know about locks and keys. A rogue by trade; when out of murders to commit, she'd turn to "emergency" unlocking. The things she found kept locked were many and myriad; lover's letters, heirlooms, savings in gold. She'd be paid, and she would open with finesse and skill the boxes brought to her from around Azeroth.

She'd found places locked as well, once upon a time, but the tides of adventurers had soon made such protection useless. Better for her, she guessed – it was easier to assassin when no locks had to be picked, and she could always nick a beer or two.

Ah, the convenience of being a rogue – you are also the key to all locks.


	5. Heart

Viasha sent another fireball into the dragon. She didn't quite understand why did they take more than one hit to perish… but she guessed it was due to their inherent magic. A question for another time, at any rate. She had been sent to collect dragon hearts, of all things. _Well, a magical reagent, I guess._

Trotting over to the slightly smoking corpse, she checks around…

"Really?" It is more shrieked than said, and accompanied by a string of curses in her alien tongue.

_Wouldn't a recently-alive dragon __**have a heart**__?_ She sighed, and set off to kill another one.

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><p>A.N. – who has had this happen? Hope you liked it, and see you around soon!<p> 


	6. Poison

"Oi! Give me some more of that sweet poison!" There were raging catcalls and whistles, but Xishiori was deaf to all but the bubbly song of liquor.

"What would you know about poison, lady girl?"

"Ah… which type? Deadly, agony-inducing, paralyzing, antidotes, hallucination agents…" She could have droned on. And she did – she was quite proud of her trade. And here she was claiming a just dessert for a mission well done.

"Okay, okay, I yield. But why call the honest beer poison?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

"Well… it is this rogue's main tool for her craft!"


	7. Burn

"Aah! It burns! **Burns**, I tell you! **Quit** it, Mirae!"

"But-"

"No buts! You either quit it, or I'll-"

"Nalu…"

Mirae darted aside, dodging the streak of shadow and causing a couple of books to topple over. She cast a healing spell on herself and the tomes for safety.

However she could not release the curtains swiftly enough and they glared wide open. Nalu screeched and dived further down into the nest of blankets that was her bed.

"Nalu, it is _only_ six! It is not _that_ light now…"

"Says the one out in _diurnal_ conditions!"

"No breakfast for you."


	8. Underpants

Rouhanne was, as of now, bored. There were no new requests for random acts of heroism, and acting like a proper paladin was not so tempting. She was off-duty after all.

A cursory glance around the house she shared with her brother. And one person more, but neither of the elder elves was here at the moment. A prank was the perfect choice… but she'd need an alibi.

"Rou!" Perfect. A creak of a door.

"Hey, Ledai? Are you up to brightening Nandriel's day?"

A manic grin from the girl in the doorway.

Ritsu enters the house, an odd-looking bird stalking her with wary glances. It is not her house per se, but her boyfriend has been kind enough to let her stay with him while she looks for quarters more suitable than a tent.

"Hello Rouhanne, Ledai. Nandriel home yet?"

"Yes, arrived a moment ago" Both voices chime in. The man they alluded to bounds out from another room, and waves to her.

He opens his mouth, probably in greeting, when-

"I see Mulgore, Orgrimmar! And I see Ritsu's under-garb!

The voice is his, but did not match the movements his mouth made. And it did not come from his direction, but from further away.

It does not save him from having to bolt from the house, her pet chasing enraged after him. The giggle from a pair of girls watching the spectacle from a higher story chases after the male as well.

"Know what? Your illusions are genius, Ledai!"

A.N. - I hated this prompt… so a friend helped me out here Cheers to you if you read this – hope you enjoyed!


	9. Sacrifice

She could not heal all of her charges constantly. Mana ran out, the wounds were too great, the spell didn't reach…

It was the thing that Mirae most hated about healing – the sacrifice demanded. Sure, it wasn't her own life most of the time, there were warriors in the front lines after all. It was having to choose who to save with the spells. It was having to accept that yes, some would give their lives, and she'd have to go around either resurrecting the fallen or praying for their souls.

But it was a sacrifice they were all willing to make – whether they made it through or had to take a resurrecting spell or simply expire. Their world was worth it.


	10. Busted

Xishori was remembering some of her earlier days as a rogue. This was not a common occurrence – she never could remember things further back than a couple of weeks (though that was probably because she was working, drunken or asleep). But watching a young rookie of her craft training brought her back to the past.

_Sneaking through the stalls. Her task: nick some apples from the stands. Then, successfully bring them back to the rogue trainers' quarter. The shadows melding around her lithe form, concealing her from glowing, piercing eyes…_

_"Hey, you thief!"_

**_Busted._**

Now, Xishori could achieve such a trivial task without even recurring to the shadows' aid. Casually, she strode over to the nearest food stand, and with incredible finesse slipped a pastry off the display…

"Hey! Thief!"

_**Busted. Again.**_


	11. Reflection

"I'm going to need some time to reflect on this, little sister…"

It was the first time that they got sent together for a mission. And it had to be a combat-based one, to top it off. Then again, they were usually like that. He checked it over a couple of times: kill some undead, destroy an artifact in their possession, then return. A nice reward – gold and some armor for each. _It seemed simple enough…_

He took that last thought back after the first day. Of all things, the undead were mostly immune to his shadow magic. And Rouhanne was the most foolish paladin he had seen – her strategies usually consisted of "run in, mow through everything". It probably saved the pair of them the fact that he had taken some time to reflect for this – lugging around some small bombs paid off when hordes of zombies were hell-bent on killing them as well.

And having Ritsu for back-up also sweetened the deal somewhat. Apparently, she had thought that without her they would fail in a spectacular manner. _She probably is right._

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><p>A.N. - cheers for alternate meanings of words :)<p> 


	12. Addicted

From the general point of view, you could say that all were addicted to magic. Not only those with a physical dependence – as the sin'dorei would know so well.

Because, if one thought about it, magic governed them. Most people went around slinging spells, toting enchanted armor and lugging around magically enhanced weaponry.

But to Nandriel, who had to deal with his own magic addiction on top of the whims of a (thankfully less affected) sibling…

Or the caprices of a certain huntress (who also had less trouble than him in that regard, but that was a perk of the job, as she called it)…

Having to deal with the addiction to practicing magic of a friend of Rouhanne's was too much. And being turned into various animals was not the best way he could think of to pass his time. But it was a way to help his almost-family, and he felt good about it. Even if he then had to get the feeling of fur out of his system.


	13. Haunted

Meilea was always haunted. But she wouldn't trade that for anything. The elements were her stalwart allies, the spirits her companions. Never to travel alone, always to be able to draw from their silent and perpetual strength.

Meilea also had a good memory. And that was something that she would readily exchange – the gift of recalling faces she was never to see again. Events that happened once upon a time across the stars. Cities to be walked only in dreams, remembered vividly.

Yet, as all draenei knew, this was what kept them alive and fighting. She would not see the faces of Azeroth fade off as well. She already loved these elements too much.


	14. Singing

A.N. – of all things, the challenge I was using got taken off DeviantArt! Well, I guess I'll just have to take on another one. So, taking it from the top (because I really don't want to take the previous ones out) with mateusz812's challenge. Bear with me, and thanks for reading/commenting.

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><p>Nalu loved singing. However, Elune had messed up on this, and had forgotten to grant her a melodious voice. Or maybe she had, but was in a <em>desperate<em> need of honing. It did not matter, for Mirae was patient enough to coach her (and had no problem stuffing her ears with cotton).

Her less-than-exquisite voice however was extraordinary when out in the field. The shadow spells seemed eager to listen to her, and there was no better tool to chase away attackers.

So when she was lead by a battalion back into the temple, chanting her moniker of "Banshee" out loud, she decided that her voice was perfect enough. She'd keep singing to the shadows.


	15. Precious Treasure

Reessaide inspected the war-worn gauntlets on his hands. Once upon a time, they had probably been worn by another unluckier warrior. But now, they had found their way across miles and ages to a warrior who his guild admired.

The guild. They had gone on the zaniest adventures and braved all hells together. Had partied away the blood, and returned laden with precious treasures and glorious tales. He paused for a while to look at the black tabard emblazoned with a golden crown and an ornate outline.

That was it – his most precious treasure. The companionship that the guild had. He'll keep on fighting for its sake.


	16. Love

Rouhanne was often out on missions. And in the field, she usually got to see and hear the tales of other people like her.

It would sound clichéd, but her favorites were the stories of 'back home'. Not only because she'd get to retell her slum dog exploits, but because of the love which riddled each tale.

The trinkets – an orc male had shown her a bone necklace given to him by his mate. A troll sorceress had a loa charm on her hair given to her by a sibling. She fingered the earrings on the top of her right ear. Small tokens by the family she loved so much.

Love… maybe that was what got so many back home in a piece.


	17. Light

Mirae glided inside the Temple of the Moon, eyes trained on the statue on the centre of moonwell. Elune's light bathed it in silver, and the tendrils of shimmering mist that rose from the waters gave it an otherworldly, soothing look.

It was not like the light she saw in battle – scything bolts and radiant pillars. But in essence, the calm radiance around her and the Light's teachings weren't that different, save for the golden hue. Love and valiance given a visible shape. The possibility of giving succor. That was all that the Light was…

To Mirae herself, it was that will to help others. And maybe, to quit being so shy – to let herself glow like the other priests in the Temple.


	18. Darkness

For all the light at her disposal, Nalu preferred the darkness. It all went along the lines of a lack of motivation for healing, a too-wild nature and an eagerness for combat that was uncommon in a priestess.

Not that it was out of place, of course. The lunar deity she adored went through a phase of shadows as well, after all. A healer needed protection to work her magic. Opposites require each other, and all that jazz. And, seeing as Nalu could rein its destructive tendencies, it was all right.

The fact that the shadows at her command danced with her voice and gave her their strength was a minor perk – she was the new moon to Mirae's full one, the darkness to her light. They worked better that way.

A.N. – sister piece to "Light", I suppose? Thanks for reading, leave reviews if you so wish (they make my day


	19. Rage

Anyone would know the common saying "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned". Nandriel would wholly support this argument – Ritsu's rage was unparalleled.

He had heard stories of boyfriends past – he knew for sure one had to bow out from active service. The rest… well, he had been spared the details. And boy, was Nandriel glad he could keep her happy and by his side. Yes, she would be prone to fits of anger… but rarely directed at him. At their conditions, at the Alliance, at half of the Horde – yes. If she could put an arrow through it, she would.

However, while Ritsu's rage was usually justified and avoidable… that of her stalwart avian protector was not. And neither elf could be sure of how many times Nandriel had to be bailed out of the feathered frenzy due to a glance or taking the huntress's hands.


	20. That's Impossible!

Meilea was bored enough to take a trip down memory lane. Viasha was holed up in her room (or rather, the room the pair of them had rented in some inn of Stormwind). So far away from the Viasha she had once seen…

"_Vi! Viasha!" The draenei girl was racing across the metallic floor of one of the Exodar's wings, a clatter of clangs echoing off the walls._

"_Oh wind, make me faster!"_

"_Why? I'm here already!" She had met up with another girl – her best friend. She was holding a book in one hand, the other waving out. _

"_Did you hear? There have been sightings of sin'dorei here! We need to get somewhere safe!"_

"_Mei, you're a shaman. I'm a mage. We'll be safe wherever we are…"_

"_Not refugees. Armed men!"_

"_Well, we stay in the training areas. And walk together to the stasis pods. Problem solved!"_

"_Do you think we'll crash? Die?"_

"_No, not at all! That's impossible!"_

Meilea looked back over her shoulder at the closed door of the room. And called out, in a cheery voice:

"Vi? Do you think we can ever go back to how we were before?"

A groan from inside.

"You, going back to the shy girl? That is impossible."

"You?"

"I… don't know."

A.N. – so over the limit… should I do off with it? And before I forget, big thanks to ReprobaVir for your review!


	21. Innocence

As all rogues, Xishiori had to master the art of a poker face. Not just any old neutral expression – one of absolute innocence. Theft worked better that way, and a sufficiently calm demeanor could spare you from a couple enraged guards or the prison.

This, obviously, had uses outside of her line of work. As Mirae had found out, when most of an inn's drinks had been stolen, and Xishiori was just under the window with a dazed look on her face. When the priestess had finally managed to extract a story from the rogue, she wouldn't have believed her capable of the theft.

She had to take that back when Xishiori stumbled into the Temple later on begging for a hangover cure.


	22. Crash

"Aurie, are you sure-"

"That it won't crash? It won't – finest gnome engineering and some spells here and there. Safe as the gryphons it is."

"You made it?"

"Err, no… friend of a friend of an etcetera who sold it to yours truly here at a fraction of Auction House price. I've run the checkups and all – don't worry, it'll be fine if you take it out for a spin!"

"It's…."A fumble, voice fading off with the missing adjective.

"Tiny? I'm a gnome, nether's sake."

Aurie hid her face under her hood at the image of Mirae cramming herself into the driver's seat of the bike. Sauntering over to the passenger addition, she got in…

"I didn't know you liked driving _this_ fast!"

However, the gnome stayed true to her words – no crash was had that day in Ironforge.


	23. Fear

Rouhanne had a very vaguely defined concept of fear. Okay, maybe two concepts – but one was a spell. She had seen Nandriel use it, and a couple warlocks on the field, but that was that.

The other concept, the one that she refused to think of…

_A broken elf lady, scarlet pooling under blonde locks. Nandriel running with her slung over a shoulder and with barely a couple of bags of money and food._

_**Don't think of the past, don't think of the past…**_

_Nandriel somewhere alone, without magic. Or Ledai – neither of them could do much in such straits. Ritsu wounded, far from reach .Enemies around the lot of them, closing in…_

_**Don't think of that, they are all okay, all okay…**_

Fear was falling back to the lost once-girl who haunted Silvermoon with a wooden sword. She was a paladin now: fearless. She'd make her fears go away, burn them off with light. They'd all be okay.


	24. Insanity

Nalu would know about insanity. Half of all the raging hordes across Azeroth and Outlands were crazed fanatics or the outright mentally corrupted. She'd probably cured some through a quest or two, had killed many times that number and seen multitudes more.

It did not stop her from thinking that maybe, just maybe… the adventurers like herself were crazier than them all. They took over haunted, decrepit structures – she'd chase them off with shadows. They summoned demons – she either slew them, or tamed them to carry her or serve her in battle. Worked with dragons? Meek Mirae had ridden on a couple dragons' backs. Seeking to destroy the world? Adventurers would set out from every corner to right the wrong-to-be.

Yes, Nalu would know about insanity. She supposed she was slightly insane as well.


	25. Blood

Rouhanne saw blood daily. The scarlet of battlefields, the scent of her blade, the domed rooftops of her home – all tinted by the liquid.

Then again, she was a sin'dorei – blood's child. The bravest one yet. Let anyone come – she'd show them exactly why her race got that little name.

Nandriel would later say to her that her history was wrong, but she didn't care. Past was past, and you could never hope to see old blood go fresh crimson again. Her brother would sigh, then let her leave to her wills – blood meant life, and he couldn't stop that. No-one could.


	26. I'm So Evil

"Oh, because I'm _so _evil…"

Xishiori was bored enough to try climbing the walls. A lecture, again, on why she shouldn't go out and just nip a couple of things from merchants. Or stick a blade in most criminal's back. Or slip just the one drop, honest, of poison on that guy's drink (but he's a cultist, so he deserves it). Maybe her methods are not politically correct… but she's not evil!

She hasn't tried to destroy the world. Or awaken the dead. Or lay waste to a kingdom. Much less allied with demons and the darkness below. Just some petty theft, a spot of vandalism or two. The occasional murder.

But she is a rogue – all of those are part of her craft. The warrior lecturing her knows it. Knows that her tactics are as useful (if not more) than his sword and shield or the law. However, reining her in would not hurt her too much – and keep her from embarrassing herself on the streets so often.


	27. Art

Rouhanne never thought much of art, even though Silvermoon was a bastion of whims and fancies given form. Maybe it was due to her wanderlust and being too caught up in bloodshed to focus on the details around her. Maybe it was due to the fact that she never had for more than bare essentials.

But that didn't matter that much. She'd seen enough art she would have it. The art of a racing spell or the glow of healing. The dancing of blades. That was _her_ art, and she was the undisputed mistress of it.

Although, some of the people she took work from would like to point out that weaponry and discarded armor weren't what they thought of when they sent her out to hunt for _treasures_. But, since they really couldn't afford to set out on their own, and the girl was armed….


	28. Inspiration

Inspiration could come in myriad ways. How to improve a healing spell, new tactics... or a brand-new elixir similar to the one that Mirae was distilling into a small vial. Another one, for back up purposes.

Reessaide was normally at ease with most potions. Sure, some of the gnomes' creations were focused more towards _miscellaneous_ effects than usefulness... and never would he ever try (again) to drink from a healing draught without checking it for unknown substances. But Mirae was, usually, a safe source for recovery items.

This was one of the rare exceptions. When the night elf would half-race through the city murmuring about some quality or another. Recite the ingredients used while she glided towards the warrior (_guinea pig, test subject_).

And Reessaide just accepted the vial... and took a drink. Worst case scenario... well, she was a healer. He felt a surge of strength, a slight replenishment... and an awful bitter taste. But all in all... no ill effects!

He took that back.

"Oh, Elune _help_ me..."

Was he really **this** short before?

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><p>A.N. - this potion doesn't exist in game ;) Thanks for reading!<p> 


	29. Standing in the Rain

Setsiria wasn't fond of rain. Or rather, she had a _strong dislike_ for it. It galled her – a warlock cooped up inside the belly of a city… all because of some meager drops of rain! They weren't even _corrosive_!

So it was obvious that she would take a stroll under her sworn non-enemy. She'd hurl a bolt of shadow or a spit of flame at the skies once in a while, even though it was futile. She'd dry the wiry wisps of hair on her head with some spell and hiss at the downpour.

And Setsiria wondered why her flesh didn't fall of her undead bones under the watery onslaught.


	30. Sweets

Setsiria worked in a candy store. Sure, it was not an ideal environment for a warlock… but quests were in short supply and she needed the gold for her studies. Besides, there was certain… charm… to working here. A couple of veiled reference to poison- pardon me, exotic flavors- and cursed- no, long lasting- treats, and she was all set.

She didn't expect a sin'dorei paladin to half waltz into the store with a pole arm still strapped to her back asking out for the 'worst you had'. Certainly not that she bought it… more than just the one time. Much less that they became some sort of 'friends'.

Later on, she and Rouhanne would be the bane of all battlefields. And of a particular priest. All through blades and spells… and small, Undercity sweets strewn across the place. She got lots of clientele that way.

Who knew warriors would develop such sweet teeth?


	31. Deep in Thought

As a warrior, you were expected to serve at least a round or two a week of guard duty. Reessaide found these times quite relaxing: for once, he could be thinking of strategies and guild outings without being worried about impending battles.

So, there he was: a warrior, clad in full plate, deep in thought about the antics of some friend or other and battle plans. The stretch of the street under his guard was mostly deserted, and apart from the occasional strolling civilian or stray dog, there was nothing to call him to action.

That was, until Xishiori came. She was also deep in thought… about pranks and pockets and ooh, wasn't that Reessaide there?

He spent the rest of the round chasing the rogue off. Off ceilings, off a shopkeeper's display, off _the canals_…

And, at the end, both were thinking: _wasn't it a nice afternoon, spent deep in thought?_


	32. Embarassment

Ritsu was, as usual, late to get up. It had taken Nandriel a couple of minutes shaking her, and ten minutes of running around evading the enraged avian she kept as a companion for her to finally get up.

The scene that greeted her was one that Nandriel would have liked to forget. The priest had been chased up a tree, while the (mercifully) flightless bird snapped at his dangling feet. Meanwhile, his long blond hair had woven itself into the branches… and entrapped the elf further. The priest had been too busy hurling spells at his assailant and cursing between breaths… until Ritsu let out a roar of laughter to drown out the ear-splitting sounds from the bird and tint the male's face a red to rival that of the fluted spires in the distance.

Needless to say, he was constantly reminded of his misadventures. With a peck or two, to drive the point home. And a kiss or two to sweeten the impact a bit.


	33. Why not?

The trigger for most of their misadventures was, simply put:

"Why not?"

_Why not_ leap off buildings with slow-fall spells, _why not_ dress in crazy garb, _why not_ set off to the wild unknowns all on their own…

Then again, it kept the three of them occupied. Nalu got a space to practice her shadow spells, Mirae had her hands full with the wounds and whatnot they acquired, Xishiori exercised borderline criminal activities at her leisure…

It was quite useful for their 'careers', they had to admit. Even if at times they had to be bailed out by a grumbling Reessaide. And anyways, the tales they got were too fun to retell.

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><p><em>A.N.<em> – you wouldn't know how much I missed writing over the weekend… so here we go again! Thanks for reading, leave reviews if you so wish and have fun!


	34. Tears

Undeath had a _small_ side effect. Namely, some emotions were hard to express. Sadness was one – something about no tear ducts or reducing water loss. Not that it mattered so much to Setsiria: a couple of days through undead routine and crying was pointless. If you didn't tear up at a couple of the rookies like her or the gruesome procedures, then you were pretty much immune to it.

But tears were odd – they reminded her or rain and gems and flowers. Of a funeral where she was the _star_. Of having to yank Rouhanne out of the grasp of a 'family' with the small glitter under their eyes.

She yanked a small purple bloom from the ground. Arthas's Tear. Damned _(again)_ if she knew what alchemists used it for…

But it looked nice in the small garden she had. And reminded her of some long-lost life where she could still taste her feelings on droplets of water.


	35. I'm So Lonely

Rouhanne was a kind soul deep, deep down. It came with the paladin duties, she supposed. And there really was no better way to spread her name around than doing good deeds. Maybe something about karma being her nemesis or so.

But, when she saw that one little boy sobbing about "being so lonely" or something like that…

Setsiria and Ledai didn't quite understand why the paladin was surrounded by a troop of children clad in spare bits of armor and wielding sticks and training blades. Much less the reason for a portal to the Undercity for the lot of them. But neither would dare argue: Ledai got to shoot off a spell or two to a rapt audience and candy. Setsiria got a boost in sells and the chance to annoy her boss for a day.

And Rouhanne got to claim her good deed of the day, with all the glory involved. And the thanks of one little lonesome boy.


	36. Under the Stars

Viasha kept staring at the darkening sky, combing the heavens for the stars that would allow her to return to the road. _Meilea and her whims…. _A coupleof choice curses and maledictions at the greenery around her that blocked scraps of sky.

It figured it would be the shaman's idea to stray from the dirt and undergrowth trail they'd been following. And, it figured that a pair of draenei would have no sense of direction whatsoever… but at least they had the stars. _Thank the naaru for taking those navigation courses…_

"Aren't the stars beautiful, Viasha?"

"You'd think that of them, Meilea." But she had to agree – for once, the home that she had left was not that far away. Yes, different stars…

But nothing quite beat stargazing with a friend.


	37. Take my Hand

Reessaide looked at the priestess half-hidden behind a temple column, a small trickle of a crowd swaying in and out of the tall arched door. She was apparently still spooked of crowds and loud noise, even after the guild meetings and outings. Or yet another of the zany schemes of her friends. Still like before…

_A night elf, barely taller than him, staff in hand, leaving the safe haven of a town. Her eyes dart around, nervous even when within range of the guard._

_The warrior steps up to her and extends a hand._

"_Come on. Our guild is supposed to be brave, right? Take my hand. You'll feel better."_

He walks over to her, the heavy clang of armor buying him a bit more of space to maneuver. She smiles, waves at him… then shies a bit further away into the shadows.

"The lady needs an escort again? Take my hand."

She doesn't do that this time. Instead, she walks towards him and fumbles through a spell. He feels a bit stronger – priest greeting, apparently.

"Now Mirae – off on guild business again. Business being: a reunion because of a special date or something…"

They walk off into the crowds.


	38. It's Windy

Viasha sighed. It was windy, and that could only mean one thi-

A dark blue hoof narrowly missed the back of her head. A long tail had the time to lash at her before she was buried under the weight of a rogue sprawled out over her. Between curses and apologies and _whoa, is she really carrying this many weapons_ there is a flash of light and ancient spell-words. She shoves Xishiori out of the way, to have to dodge a sprinting priestess, pale blue hair fanning behind her with motes of shadow.

The other elf is screeching out at Meilea, who is hovering a bit above the ground. But for all the _wrong_ reasons.

"Meilea! Get back down here and let me join in, _please_!"

In the gust of wind that follows, Viasha hides her face in her palms. And joins in, knowing that someone will probably have to drag them to a healer afterwards.


	39. Listening to Music

Despite appearances, it was uncommon to hear music in Silvermoon. The voices of people drowned it out, clangs of metal muted it and the hum of latent magic blurred everything together. Rouhanne had once tried to find a rhythm and tune to the lively bustles… and found one. While it was pleasant…

Despite appearances, there was music in the battlefields. Maybe not in the battle per se: the small wisps of downtime or the rousing echo of battle cries and the whistling of arrows in the racing winds.

This was the music that Rouhanne listened to: a music that turned around to sing praises to those who could walk away to hear it once more. She'd keep her name on the lyrics.


	40. Dreams

A young Mirae had once fallen in love with the idea of healing. Had spent hours under the Temple's moonlight studying spells and salves and first aid procedures, falling asleep over still-open tomes and rolls of fresh-made bandages.

Another young Mirae had been recently accepted into the Sisterhood, taking up the mantle of novice priestess. Soon enough, she had fully embraced the healer's path – cascades of holy light and renewing prayers. A potion or a bandage enhancing the effects.

Soon enough another less young Mirae had set off the cities and into the wilds. A guild had taken her in: helped along her dream of aiding those in distant battlefields…

Now, Mirae kept looking at the streams of wounded that she had sworn to aid. And as much succor as she gave… half were lost, half would recover and all left a mark. What an odd way for dreams to come true…

But at least, those that pulled out could still fulfill theirs.


	41. Teamwork

It was sheer teamwork that got the guild going. The healer's craft, a mage's skill, the rogue's guile and the courage of those who actually marched in front of them all, a shield in their hands. Mighty foes had fallen to the combined strength and skill of the many guilds, not least his own.

But not all teamwork Reessaide saw was of battle nature. Many, many times he had seen the guild undertake epic challenges. Mammoth caravans, running over to cheer on those enlisting in the arena for quick glories…

And then there were the day to day issues that they all tried to fix. The location of the nearest inn, a new call to adventure, and the catch-all cure for hangovers and minor wounds.

He'd know about it, running off to help the alchemists gather enough materials and helping out those who were still nursing a wound and a bottle or two.


	42. Two Roads

A left, and a right, and why the Light was there a sheer wall of stone here, and Rouhanne had lost her temper for the umpteenth time that morning. It didn't suffice that she had been wrested from her battles to deliver a report (the nerve)… she had to be beyond knowledge of the front! Sure, she could read the report… and find little praise and many neat rows of soldier-like dull numbers and statistics and yet another battle plan. Not that they weren't useful, but they didn't get her the glory she wanted (although, there surely was a path to that in there somewhere).

Right now, she was cursing her battle-oriented pick between two roads when the dust trail that passed as a street in Orgrimmar chose to split off again. Why oh why couldn't things be simpler,or easier to scale?

Picking up a silver coin from a pocket, she flicked it up. Let luck decide which of the two roads to take… soon enough, she'll get to her destination.

A.N. – or she could use a map. Anyways, thanks for reading, and reviews are appreciated.


	43. Spell

As a priest, Nandriel was expected to know many spells. How to call down healing light or tendrils of flaying shadows. To draw an ally near, or to make foes flee from their worst nightmares…

But there were certain spells he didn't know how to cast. The spell of Ritsu's somewhat lunatic smiles, or the magic that seemed to bathe Rouhanne in dim-witted vigor – the words for those spells were lost in the knowing air, a flick of the wrist or the whipping reflections of metal. That is, if there were words at all to summon that energy…

Then again, that magic is theirs and theirs alone. Maybe, he has a similar effect on them…

And if not, hey – a bit of a hand with the mechanic is quite useful as well.


	44. Smile

When an undead smiled, it usually wasn't a good sign. Most of the times, it would indicate the impending fall of a maggoty jaw. Some of the time, it was an omen for some chemical catastrophe.

With Setsiria, it meant that a bit of the sugary confections you just acquired might be a little on the old side – the mold gave it the tanginess. If there was another smile, this one healthy next to hers; courtesy of Rouhanne, you were in for your doom or a prank, if you happened to be one of the lucky few on their sides.

So smiles were not usually comforting – but to a warlock, it was all right.

A.N. – checking through archives, discovered a mess up and fixed it (I'm such an idiot – deserving a slap or something, leave creative ideas). Thanks for putting up with me, and hope you've enjoyed!


	45. Friendship

It was usually nigh impossible to get Mirae to speak in anything higher than mice's whispers. Nalu and Reessaide, who often enough were off in missions along her, would see her vaguely nod and murmur agreement to their contractors.

That, of course, meant having to stop their conversations with her. Or having to drag her from the nooks and miscellaneous hiding places she seemed to draw strength or solace from.

Needless to say, they have to do their sacrosanct duties as friends and mentor. So, in the name of friendship and self-confidence-

She now has to turn in the results for every single outing. To every single being.

Needless to say, once the blushing and stammering fall off – it becomes 'dodge the light beams' and egging her on between bouts of laughter from the three of them.

That's what friends are for, right?


	46. Childhood

Setsiria, being part of the undead, never had a childhood. And she considered it a waste – dependant on someone else, unable to do most things and you were dreadfully limited to experiment with not-really-toxic substances.

But, she deals with a candy shop on a daily basis. Deals with a young paladin in a near-daily basis as well. It roughly translates to having to deal with childhood constantly: as customers, as friends…

Rouhanne still doesn't understand how Setsiria can deal with almost all kids all the while though. From the small-town boys to the high-rise girls and the mishmash of in-betweens…

Then again, it's just manipulating a bit of candy and flavors around. Even someone dead can do that.


	47. Re:Sacrifice

Being a warrior, Reessaide was accustomed to the concept of sacrifice. Most of the time, it was him gambling his life in front of a fearsome foe…

Most of the time, those very-near sacrifices meant a rousing battle-cry as he lifted a heavy metal shield in victory and defiance. It meant nights out with the guild, retelling stories to rapt audiences and chuckling over armor and loots.

Some of the time, it meant Mirae hovering above him panicking around; healing light in her hands and nagging like the world was ending. Or it meant an empty vial in his hand, a stream of apologies and the cackle of Nalu nearby.

He, in a way, _liked_ these sacrifices – they made life worth living. Even if it meant they could end it as well.

* * *

><p>A.N. - lo and behold, a repeat! Reiterating my waaay old A.N.: I liked my previous pieces, so... not taking them down, and you get another piece :) Once more: you readers are making the world go 'round.<p> 


	48. Sport

Nalu went insane cheering out for the leather-clad dancer in the middle of the arena. When the figure below moved, slivers of shadow whirled with her; a streak of scarlet rising to the air before dropping into a graceful blade, mingling with stale poison. And yet, the rogue had taken a hit or two; a ribbon of red on the thigh, a scar on the arms decorating the dull armor and faded blotches of battles past.

It was over a second or two afterwards. The rogue bounded up to meet Nalu in the stands: under the sweat and grime and drops of blood, it was just a semi-maniac Xishiori, a grin in her face an a potion flask in her hand.

"You know, next game's yours…"

"Beat your time!"


	49. Do Not Disturb

"Do not disturb" is an iffy concept. A paradox – the urge to disturb whatever is beyond the warning is too great; the possibilities ranging from the dire to the bizarre.

In so far as Rouhanne cared, "Do not disturb" applied mainly to three things. Ledai and her spells; Nandriel and his tinkering… Setsiria and her miscellaneous doings behind an employee's door.

The reasons for this were simple – a week or so spent as a sheep, plus an extra week with extra fluffy hair. Camping out with Ritsu and her oversized chicken due to her rooms being little more than charred debris.

Seeing an undead twirl around in an apron…

Well – apart from those three things… "Do not disturb" was merely a suggestion. Easily ignored at that, and prime material for stories.

Even if some of those could border on tragicomedies or horror. But a hero needed all of them.


	50. Test

For becoming a mage, there were an inane amount of tests. Ledai, quite logically, studied rigorously for each one…

Only to blank out as soon as she was handed a scroll with the instructions. Time to up the ante, and really show what she was capable of!

Later that day, she showcased her brand-new status by lighting small flames over her index finger; casting portals all over the falling leaves… it went perfect, until she got both spells mixed up.

Even later that day, she was made to re-sit the tests, a finger wrapped in linen bandages and hair soaking wet from the endless pouring over ice and water on the flaming leaves.

Well… she passed it both times, at least.


	51. Amnesiac

Many undead had the problem of amnesia. Setsiria would like to say she was one of the allegedly blessed few who were able to dodge this fate…

But now, half-lost in some wilderness or other, a mass of shadow calling itself a voidwalker (and doing a poor job of walking in the void) trailing behind her and the general cacophony of a supposedly deserted forest; Setsiria had to admit that she was as much of an amnesiac as her fellow undead.

No, it wasn't that no-past amnesia: she remembered a couple of faces, and there were certain corners of Tirisfal marked as her own once upon an inanely long time…

But hey, someone mind reminding this warlock what the quest was exactly? She'd been killing some beings or others for, well, quite long now.

With a shrug, she loaded up another blast of shadows.

"You – keep them away from me."

She'll remember later – anyways, the money she was getting was good.


	52. Surprise!

As most if not all mages, Viasha was buried up to her nose in books. Being a draenei (if a somewhat short one), that amounted to a large amount of dusty texts and walls of minuscule lettering.

It had gone on for too long.

So deep in thought was the mage, that she didn't notice the clatter and tinkling of metal beads; maybe she had become too accustomed to it. Much less when it was joined by another noise – that of preparing to unleash chaos upon her.

Said chaos took the form of a leaping Meilea draping some jewelry on her and handing her a flask of something.

"Surprise!"

Whichever the reason, it was met with a frown… and a whole crowd running into her secluded space.

_There is no avoiding this, right?_


	53. I Can't

It was hard for Rouhanne to ever say "I can't". Her reputation as a hero prevented her from doing that: she had to be able to do nigh-impossible feats on a near-daily basis. Save the day a thousand times daily before dinner.

But you didn't expect a paladin to go around doing so with a sword. You expected the serene glow of light or a pearl of wisdom. Rouhanne had at first tried that route, only to (secretly) fail spectacularly.

So, she'd never say "I can't"… so long as there wasn't magic involved. But she was far away from Silvermoon…

No uttering _that_, then.


	54. Are You Challenging Me?

Normally, Setsiria was apathetic – what she didn't care for, she didn't do. As an undead… not many things to care for, so not many things to do either.

As Setsiria, however… you had _obscene_ amounts of usually off-duty pride. And a half-delusion reputation to uphold.

Which is the reason why, as of now:

"Are you challenging me?"

Rouhanne just grinned, mouth almost curling up her long ears. _I'll make it actually go that high…_

"If I so was, then…?"

_Oh, it's on!_

It had ceased to be a decent spectacle: although, the first aid vendor (who had a dubious reputation) did sponsor their friendship duels in a healthy manner.

This time, Setsiria won, for the record.


	55. Mirror

Mirror, mirror-

A tinkling smash of a dusty glass jar and the complaining cacophony of cascading candies. There may have been screeches and moaning about having to replace said broken container.

"Rou, it is really-"

"Zombie, you are accustomed to-" Waving motions ensued, vaguely indicating the undead female leaning over a counter with a glazed look on her eyes.

"Yes. You are a warrior. There will be bloodstains and scars-"

"The heroine never gets a scar on her face!"

The shopkeeper's head hit the counter, wisps of cobwebs and runaway dust creatures leaping into the air.

"And destroying reflecting surfaces is better than a spell why?"

Another 'mirror' gets the chop when Rouhanne realizes it was all pointless anyways.


	56. Don't Look Back

Viasha never liked looking back. The days way back as a rookie were too faded to be real, the small periods as a magic tutor bored her at the mere thought…

The rest, well – ancient history. It would just wrap around again. So she didn't need to look back.

Viasha still did:

The last time she had managed to quiet Meilea down enough to finish a spell or finally fall asleep.

The last time neither of them had required to just camp out in the wilderness. And that one time when Meilea chased off the squirrels as a wolf (and chased Viasha into an almost-out bonfire by accident).

The time Viasha finally managed to read a map: by turning it over.

Well, those trivial times wouldn't wrap back so easily. She might as well look back on them. For the rest – don't look back.

Why miss the moment?


	57. Annoyance

Having to go around carrying totems was an _annoyance_. They clicked and clanged with every step, sending bright rays of_ 'be careful' _to Meilea's head. They pinched and pricked at her legs – not to mention, Meilea spent_ ages_ disentangling her air totem from the kilt she wore the one time she tripped.

But, when her elders decided that _yes, she was skillful enough_; when Meilea received a single 'multi-totem' of sorts, with her own small 'shrines' to each element…

Meilea couldn't simply leave the old conduits somewhere else. Even when the spirits had long since moved to their new device or she had to move around the world yet again.

Elsewhere, a banker still stole glances at the carefully wrapped-up bundle. Old totems…

Why would this shaman still keep them around?


	58. Bored

When Ritsu got bored, it _rarely_ was a good thing. This time however…

Nandriel leant further over the hawkstrider, willing it to just _pick up the pace_ already-

Too late. A sudden stop, when Ritsu drops from her perch with a flutter of golden leaves and a hit to his right ear.

"Well, is the knight in shining armor trying to leave the princess alone?"

"No, just trying to avoid-"

"_Squawk_."

Ritsu would later simply not believe that Nandriel could _willingly_ drive this fast, or take the shortcuts that she had found _another_ time that she was bored out.

And simply not believe the rage that her pet could feel towards its other caretaker, Light's sake…

But Ritsu wasn't that bored anymore. And Nandriel wouldn't really admit that –

"Well, it has been less disastrous than the _other_ times…"

"Better like this, huh?"

He just keeps driving, but Ritsu knows that Nandriel's smiling by now.


	59. Falling Down

Xishiori was a rogue. A rogue with subtlety issues, but a rogue nonetheless.

To specify the subtlety issues:

"Get down from there!"

"Nope."

Another bout of screeches and silent mumbling.

"Hey – I'm supposed to be sure-footed. Part of the training. And you've seen me sneak out the boo-"

"So you did it? I thought it was the fairies. Any case, you really shouldn't be up-"

The much-awaited slip, crash and falling down occurred. Xishiori halted her fall half-ways with one of the many daggers on her clothes, only to have to release her grasp on the handle with a sheepish smile and a wave to the infuriated shopkeeper.

"_Run!"_

At least, Mirae stayed for long enough to cast a levitate spell on her… and catch the eye of the shopkeeper.

Xishiori would apologize on some later date.

A.N. – the title could be redundant… then again, it is WoW. I've managed to fall up in there (naw, not really. Just that boss with gravity altering mechanics ;)


	60. On the Ice

Viasha glared daggers at the ground below her, barely biting back swearwords linked in to fiery doom.

She then snapped her head upwards, as if shooting enough visual daggers at the ground below would actually cause it to shatter under her unsteady hooves or melt to treacherous liquids.

A blood elf in front of her does the same, not-quite-berserk and almost hysterical, trying to pull greaves frozen to the ice. She has been going at it, alternation between frenzies of movement and what Viasha presumes to be curses in a flute-like tongue.

At a glance, they both decide on their course of action. To end this enemy to both Horde and Alliance in one fell swoop. The future generations will sing of their prowess, and no longer will they worry about being stranded on the impassive ice.

As one, they both cleave the ground with justice-guided spells, battle cries heralding the mighty struggle.

Rouhanne would later deny her troubles with unenchanted armor, only to slip at the merest hints of inebriation in the wee hours of some other morning.

Viasha would curse her various short-distance, free-all teleports… that she hadn't learnt at the time.

Needless to say, it didn't happen again to either of them.


	61. Hurt

There was _hurt_. There was "very hurt". There was "_oh sweet Elune please deliver me from this agony_" hurt.

And there was Mirae trying to shove a poisonous concoction down your throat. She brewed it from herbs, light's sake. In the middle of nowhere if Nalu wanted to be more precise.

Mirae shot Nalu another half-glare, almost apologizing for proffering the glass vial with a shimmering liquid within.

Nalu really, really wished that, for now, Mirae had the confidence a healer was _supposed_ to have when delivering a cure.

And then again, there was that prick of hurt that meant sudden defeat. Mirae whipped her hand back, an empty syringe clutched in it.

"Sorry, but you were taking too long…"

"Do you have another potion?"

A nod, and a creepy grin from a Nalu now cloaked in shadows.

"_Run_."

Then, there was that nice hurt you got when running and laughing your head off for too long. And, no, she didn't hurt Mirae…

Or she wouldn't be sitting here through another potion _again._


	62. Free Time

A.N. – I changed the order here… the prompts were sort of redundant together (Hurt- Pain). So, here we go!

Aurie can't remember much of the last time she had free time on her hands – no quests to do or errands to run.

Taking one good look at her garage reminds her of just how occupied she has been. There is still that robot companion lying semi-disassembled on a countertop, dust bunnies long having reclaimed a habitat. There were sparkling cables and loops of long wire lying in tangles.

Later on, when Aurie is calling a couple of, er… well, firemen (no good euphemism for them for a gnome), she remembers just how out of practice she was.

Well, she's blaming her lack of free time for this. And having to shoot some magic at it, just to check…

At least, no damage done!


	63. Pain

Reessaide is accustomed to pain – both feeling it and causing it. Part of a warrior's job; sticking a sword into anywhere and being a test dummy for all armors was par for Reessaide's everyday course.

Feeling the type of pain that a hangover – with fell-asleep-in-armor included in the package – can leave, is something that his extensive training can't help with.

Only now can Reessaide truly understand the nuances of waking up or just how strong light can be (paladins and priests – helm off to you).

He'll swear off mass guild partying for a while… not that anyone would be so inclined to do so anyways-

"Reessaide!"

He forgot to take a miffed Nalu (who is breaking his eardrums with complaints about not being invited) into account. But at least, she knows a bit of hangover curing…

Which just might be another type of pain.

Ah, well.


	64. Flirt

Ritsu had once been the queen of all flirts – and queen of heartbreak as well. Broken something else's as well – although it was her trusty pet who gave her the latter title.

The secret… well, Ritsu wouldn't go around telling. But there were smiles involved, knowing just when to cease fire and playing around with how to wear armor off-duty.

And boy oh boy, she had caught one interesting bit of prey now. A priest, not too tall and sort of lean (adventurer-types, Ritsu knew, were the best – she had no worries about showing herself around town later). A sort of nice smile, but no great looker and certainly no knight in shining armor.

Logically, her pet had to decide it was the worst threat ever – as commanded to do (it had taken some practice to make it snap into and out of berserk). It leapt through the air-

To be missed by a hurled net that caught Ritsu, and landing with a dull yelp on the target. A blast of light and mild swearing (oh, come on, Ritsu had heard worse), and target-boy is on his way-

"You know, there are better ways to flirt."

"And you'd know, mister…?"

"Nandriel, nice to meet you. Your pet is another matter though."

"Oh, it's just one of his moods. So, another way to flirt? Can't say I've…"

Sometime later, Nandriel babbling out about schematics and spells _and how on Azeroth did we get to this conversation_, Ritsu has decided to quit flirting.

Nandriel saw through her shows, after all. _Nandriel _deserves _quite_ the prize, doesn't he?


	65. Give Up

"Just give up already!"

"Yeah, and you'll see the trees fly…"

Rouhanne pointed at one of the many floating potted spiral trees littering the Bazaar's streets. In answer, Setsiria just shot shadow at the base of one, pleased with the clatter of broken clay.

"See? I told you some _measly_ sun won't beat me!"

"Yeah, I don't know about the guards though-"

"Wait, this place _has_ guards?"

Rouhanne just stopped in her tracks, gaping at the undead that was trying to fit beneath an undersized parasol, skin beginning to peel and dry.

The clanging of armor behind them broke the spell of silence.

* * *

><p>"Try another route – you <em>can't<em> climb this one in that armor!"

"And giving up as you did with the potted plant?"

"If the guards catch you, your problem."

"_If_" – Rouhanne finished vaulting over some construction materials still scattered around the city, landing safely out of the armored guards' reach.

Setsiria was glaring daggers at the paladin, normally grey skin flaking under the sunlight and hair plastering itself down.

"Told you so."

"Now, I'm going to completely rot away in your city due to you-"

"Set, it was _all _your idea. I told you to drop it-"

"Obstinate _kid_-"

"Hey pot? Kettle here-"

"Gah. Calling it off on your abhorrently sunny city."

"So… giving up?"

A shimmer, and both females' shadows moving around of their own accord.

"Don't _taunt_ me."

"Or would it be _remind_?"

Rouhanne admitted defeat to the shadows _only_ when it was a guard on patrol making his way around the corner.

"Mind you, strategic move."

"So _you _say."

"… 'kay. This time, you win."

Setsiria just smiled.


	66. Calm Down

There will always be idiotic people in Azeroth…

And then there will be those who have tried to calm down a warrior right after a battle. Reessaide was no exception to the time- and combat-honored warrior traditions:

After a fight, there is a celebration which can resemble the previous rage-driven combat. Or there is a body on the ground clad in plate armor and guild or army emblems with blood pooling underneath.

Or both, as it happened this one time…

Well, Reessaide had some spare potions, and dousing a shield wound to the face works, um, sort of similar to drinking it.

The guild rarely let him live it down. At least until there was another incident with another member… but so long as there aren't any casualties, it's just a big party-on.

In any case, the guy enjoyed the new scar… and the time he got Reessaide to 'calm down' via a well placed pressure punch.


	67. Last Chance

_This is it! Last chance; going all out; now or forever hold your pitiful peace-_

Xishiori nimbly leapt from wooden wall to the pale permanently moonlit stone, clinging spider-like to the buildings and swinging from the sturdy vines without so much as a sound.

_Come on, come on, I have to pull this off-_

Another leap. Sliding down a domed ceiling into a balcony with cushions strewn haphazardly – many silent thanks to the owner for the tasteful and functional décor. Clambering into an overhanging branch: a snap and a curse muffled by the black mask Xishiori wore, followed by mad scrambling to another limb and-

_Victory!_

The small temple dormitory was bathed in the soft glow of the moon, Xishiori's shadow dancing on the ground as its owner traipsed around the room. A giggle and a slap to her mouth later, the rogue softly glided out from the window, leaving graffiti on the dust covering the opened pane.

* * *

><p>Nalu woke up to strings hovering above her face, and the odd sensation of some fluffy substance on her face. Next to her, Mirae was almost suspended by the same string entrapment woven by their intruder, and the priestess had been victim to glitter and a couple scrawls of ink on her face – a fact that was yet to register on the already awake female.<p>

Meanwhile, the windows simply stated:

"Good luck on your upcoming trip! Come back to make this one even!

P.S. – cleaning up here is your chore."

Despite her lack of evening energy, Nalu mustered a screech worthy of any banshee:

"Xishiori you idiot!"

* * *

><p>Somewhere else in the city, said rogue was catching up on the much needed sleep-<p>

Only to be woken up by a resounding screech that sounded too much like her name.

_Last chance to live out this night? Elune's sake…_


	68. Everything I Want

Nalu could get philosophical at times. In a Goddess-inspired vibe of immense depth and revelation, she'd ask the all-important questions: where are we going, who are we, what do we want…

Doing so in presence of Xishiori was another matter – the rogue could almost see the questions flying over her silver-white head. And she answered in the only possible way she could:

"I want everything!"

Queue Nalu, in the slow cadence of those in deep meditation or bored, to keep up the inquiry:

"So, what is everything?"

"My friends and my house and the gold and some beer and nice clothes and-"

Nalu's head sunk into the silken pillows, inspiration rapidly fading with the amusingly common list that Xishiori was ratting off at an almost inhumane speed.

"I get it! Now please, quiet?"


	69. Forbidden Love

'_Their love was forbidden, and Zeitta just bemoaned the fact that-'_

"Ledai: who wrote this utter drivel? And most importantly: why the nether are you reading it?"

"Ah, come on. You were reading it over my shoulder as well."

"I wasn't!"

"Then… who are the two main characters, and their conflict?"

"Zeitta the _wonderful _elf female lead, who has fallen in love with the supposedly evil - oh…"

An ever so _smug_ smile from Ledai.

"He-hey! I just got that from… the back cover! Yes, that really neat thing called-"

Ledai cackled as she spun the book around to reveal a perfectly blank cover… with a recording device behind magically adhered to it.

"Half a minute to run the he-"

"Half a minute for this to be made-"

Nandriel would like to know where the living room went, and if he'd get it back.

Ah well, camping out with Ritsu tonight then.


	70. Looking On The Sky

"_Ready_?"

A nod from the gnome, reins clutched tightly in her hands-

_Loop_, and Dalaran was above (below?) the upside-down pink tails, both hoods had fallen on…

"Now!"

Mirae and Aurie let go, for a second only, of the reins, watching the city soar towards them-

A shimmer of soft spell-cloud, the whoosh of an unfurled parachute and some scattered yelling.

"Mirae, _I told you_, I had to do the calculations!"

The priestess looked guilty and somewhat confused at her friend, blue-black hair fanning up in the air and getting into Aurie's eyes as she spoke.

"We _over-shot_ the city!"

A couple of glances down from the sky, and up at even more heavens punctuated by lilac spires and wisps of candy-pink. More apologetic looks and assorted mumbles from Mirae as she tried to hide her face in the hood.

Aurie just burst out in giggles.

"Never mind – we'll just have to fly back up… after this _absurd_ fall…"

"At least we made it!"


	71. Valentine's Day

Ah, Valentine's Day. That hex of pink drowning the city, the googly-eyed adventurers testing out their 'abilities' on many a passing guard or their intoxicated fellows…

Well, Meilea was a sniper. Something about lost loves and perfume and little flying goblins had her clambering with all the expected muffled noise to the blue rooftops of the Trade District; some old qualm with her best friend had her aiming a ridiculous gun at the other draenei's silver-white head.

With a mad-cap grin rarely seen anywhere, Meilea pulled the trigger-

* * *

><p>Viasha had just been shuffling through the crowds, continuously cursing the cologne aroma choking the sweet-scented candles which swamped over the miscellaneous detritus of a busy market. Many an adventurer had gotten bored – or drunk – enough to try and kiss her. One had a more gentlemanly approach, and carried her bags for her for a while. A girl had somehow stuck a rose to the neat buns Viasha wore her hair in, pecked her cheek and left waving into another throng to lace another flower in some other person's hair.<p>

Then the spray of perfume hit her full on the back of her head, sending her in a collision course towards a mildly inebriated gnome waving a 'free kisses' sign over his sickeningly pink head. Logically, Viasha didn't manage to dodge…

She hoped the gnome hadn't ended portalled to some absurd location.

* * *

><p><em>Wind, guide my aim next time…<em>

Meilea grunted, muttered something that summoned a breeze to help then leveled the same perfume sniper rifle towards the same target. Just as she pulled the trigger a second time, a gnome landed over her, some cardboard contraption hitting her in the ribs before the wind spirit bore the gnome safely downwards. Meilea saw the spray hit, Viasha crash-kiss into a red-haired night elf (logistics of that to be thought about later on).

She leapt down, pecking the dizzy gnome on the head.

"Thanks for the good luck buddy!"

* * *

><p>A.N. - yes, I know this isn't the next prompt... but I was up some some unseasonal parody, so forgive me :) And Happy (belated) Thanksgiving!<p> 


	72. Joke

There were jokes, and there were _jokes_…

The person calling out some of the most heard classics at full volume in the World's End Tavern clearly didn't know any. Sure, good imitations… but watching a draenei in the corner be beaten hands-down by a gnome in a cushioned-up chair at a drinking game was rapidly becoming more entertaining. Or eyeing that _interestingly_ inebriated guild-member, _mercifully _not of _their_ guild, sweet-talk the _drunkard demon in the back for a kiss._

Xishiori was the first one to stand up, raising a beer stain high in the air and keeping her sober façade for all of ten seconds before slurring out some gibberish and dancing on the table, narrowly avoiding entangling herself in Nalu's borrowed dress or the hidden blades.

Nalu followed, her own and equally dull renditions of the used jokes garnering a couple extra laughs. Mostly because of the shoving-the-other-spotlight-thief-out-of-the-table going on and the rather odd costumes both of them wore.

Meilea just crept under the table, singing to her totems drinking songs both old and new. The table shook above her, to be answered by a shuffle by the woman underneath or one of her elemental companions.

And Viasha, who couldn't believe she hadn't made the lot of them take their guild tabards, just let her head slam the table, making the tavern-keepers shudder with the sound of the impact…

Before shoving both arguing night elves down from the table, stepping up and throwing more jokes around, trying to aim barbs at the trio of them, obviously beyond her usual level of drunken stupor. Let it be said that it had been Viasha's only drink that night.

Later on, with a hangover splitting them at the sides and Reessaide not helping with that booming voice of his, they don't regret anything…

Save those lame jokes. They really had it coming.


	73. Good And Evil Side Of Me

There was a good side to Nalu, despite common beliefs. The priestess spent ages patching clothes, or baking something, or being a nice girl…

Thing was, Nalu didn't think her nice persona was enjoyable to be around. So bad-Nalu usually got the reins – fixing that cultist problem, or finding out how tall a tower was and those miscellaneous acts borne more of childish concepts of justice and evil straight out of the fairy tales.

And the theory usually was mentioned in answer to her penchant for the shadows. Or why in the Nether did Xishiori and she have to be bailed out this time around…

Or why did the priestess sign up for so many brutish quests – enemy dealing and some such things. But it made sense:

Even with a good and evil side to her, good could win out. Although in its own convoluted way.


	74. Forgive Me

Mirae was used to the choruses of 'Forgive me's that permeated the temple, rising in crooning loops along with incense and sacred moonlight. Has been the recipient of many a 'Forgive me' as well – Mirae is a priestess, and as such she has her duties.

And most of them, really, are the trivial things of life – I failed this test, I nicked this small thing, I…

Mirae has heard them all over and over again, a litany of pleases, and there is an ancient (or not) battlefield playing on closed lids.

At times, it's the priestess asking to be forgiven directly to the alabaster statue that pours moonlight in the middle of the temple. She is not the Goddess herself, but certainly closer. And Mirae is the healer, not the one who will properly slay a foe and relieve them of any goods to be split up on the party.

But she takes part. And as much as death and life are a tightly knit circle, with all playing part…

She adds her own voice calling 'Forgive me' – it's late enough as is.

* * *

><p>A.N. – aand… I apologize for the huge delay, but this fic got hit by a writer's block in the face viciously, not to mention life decided to conspire against general free time. So…<p>

Thanks for reading!


	75. Over the Ground

Her target was unawares, as usual. Easy pickings for one such as she, ruler of the very thinly cloud-veiled skies of Orgrimmar. Leathery wings from one of the other visitors of her domain beat near her face and wind whipped the silver-blonde hair behind her face like a war banner.

She just needed him to get out from under the wood-and-pelt awnings and into the open – the maneuver was riskier if she had to be conscious about avoiding a ceiling.

Nandriel was miffed enough already about being sent to Orgrimmar in a mission – too much of the red dust, abhorrently dry weather, the almighty glare of sunlight ricocheting off well-trod stones and soaring canyon walls despite the hazy cloud cover.

Oh, and the panoply of wide wingspans cluttering the airspace did little or nothing to blot out the sun – many a drake wing became translucent under such a light, and many of the more extravagant mounts were… well, seemingly incorporeal.

Well, business was over, and the doors to the airship tower beckoned with a promise of zeppelins home – the reek of goblin gasolin shrouding the air and high-pitched shouts to board growing louder and louder-

A dull thunk, a feral roar; Nandriel's cheap and well-patched backpack lying prone on the orange-red ground and absurdly away from his reach. A cackle, high enough for the girl emitting it.

"Rouhanne, get me down immediately!"

"D'ya really want to?"

A glare down from the sky-high sibling on a wyvern – too high, surely under the top of the zeppelin tower but nowhere near landfall-

"Ah well, as you-"

Nandriel seized the reins, paling visibly under his hood. Too late-

Arcane words – a divine bubble surrounding him and soft magic clouds to tread on instead of dust and air.

Overhead, her silhouette clear across the bright disc visible behind the clouds, Rouhanne just giggled free.

"Last time, I swear, I let her out with those…"

* * *

><p>A.N. – happy new year, people! Thanks for still reading this, take care, and hope your year is awesome!<p> 


	76. Fireworks Show

There were fireworks over the clear skies of Silvermoon, reds and amber shooting up like magic spells to attack the dull clouds. Cause unknown – but the errant magister was a suspect for the pyrotechnical display.

And Ritsu was having none of it, trying to cuddle down into the stubbornly un-fluffy pillow and stained soft blankets. Booms and faraway sparkles hissed in her tapering ears, forcing them down in a fear reaction too similar to those of a lynx she had once owned.

The poor thing had actually tried to attack the fireworks that had frightened the pair of them so. It ended up with it blown sky-high and Nandriel having to drop (yet again) his engineering practice to swear in bizarre ways that no, fireworks weren't his trade and of course he'd never use them around the house.

(Although said fireworks-obsessed magister always strolling around Silvermoon always went to the workshop in which Nandriel was being a 'good' apprentice, and obviously the client's demands could overrule a girlfriend's fears when out of her sight).

Thankfully, Ritsu never got around to catching him. Even when, on nights such as these, she'd forcefully drag him into the wood-smelling tent, shove a blanket on top of him and curl up, covering her ears with the earplugs given to Nandriel as part of joining in.

He'd just stay through the night, rapping the ground in time to the far off explosions, and boring the girl with equations and ratios of the fireworks he got so observe from a slit in the fabric.

Ritsu always fell asleep when he arrived to measuring the distance off with just the sound. And lock him in a dead girl's grip, just so that he couldn't run away into the science and the glimmers.

Which caused him no end of trouble when morning rolled over and all the inhabitants of their home decided to take a stroll and find them there… but for these reasons?

He likes it well enough, even more than the shows.


	77. Cold Winter

It's a Light-awful sensation slithering down between the paper-silk robes and a long, fur-lined hooded cloak slightly ripped after so many scuffles. The figure tries to inch any closer to the crackling flames nearby, but any closer and the gloves would probably catch fire.

And he doesn't have the gold to replace them, not to mention the tailor is out for his blood after a couple of the payments went awry. But seriously, it hadn't been his fault… at least, not completely. It's just that he did get the schematics for the sewing contraption from a goblin, reassured by the low assemblage cost and the gunpowder-based glue. He just didn't assume that it was going to be used with the fire-thread.

But that isn't the point – the point is that a certain Nandriel is two breaths and a prayer away from freezing in his seat next to this puny fire, cursing in a long sibilant string the powers that be, goblin engineering and cold weather in general. Pulling dreadfully thin garments closer – and really, who thought that disallowing leather was a 'divine vow' or some other persnickety detail of priesthood – Nandriel doesn't realize that something had drawn ever so impossibly silent back.

_Smack. _

It was winter's own attack, a lich resorting to common melee, death's own pernicious glare. And the giver, under silver-halos and clad in ice with a voice like a chime, just mumbles constantly about crybabies and manning up. Names of locations – Tirisfal, Gilneas – ring across his ears along with echoes of the blow, and only then does he realize that it's only Rouhanne, Light's sake, and suddenly just throwing her into the embers with a magical shield or two sounds like a good idea.

He pulls on her hands, willing his idiot of a younger sibling to just go warm up, and receives a copy of the previous smack in response.

"You know, if you're so finicky about such things as the weather, you should just go back and set up that engineering place, cold-intolerant pansy."

"Look who's speaking-"

"Someone who's gone to wastelands and such beyond Eversong – man, you do need to see and feel knee-deep snow-"

"Yes, and you need to be kept in line. I've had enough of having you almost delivered in a body-bag to my workshop."

" 'S if you'd ever seen me after a battle-"

"Don't remind me."

A.N. – I live… hope you people are still there, and if not… well, hell. Hope you liked it, have better climate wherever you happen to be, and have a nice day!


	78. Lust

Xishiori was definitely not a sheltered person – being a rogue by trade tended to do that to a girl, or so it is said. And either way, Stormwind was no city of miracles, with its dirty streets, shady alleys and beggar-thieves lacking in so much style.

But it sure did know how to throw a proper festival, unlike the more "refined" affairs usually arranged in Darnassus. Not that she didn't know how and where the raunchier parties were, but… yeah, Xishiori liked it better here, where decoration spilled from the hung-over ceilings and she could go around mooching from people with ease.

She wasn't doing so now. At the moment, some other issues were concerning her – namely, a shapely posterior, with some simply wonderful daggers swinging each way and that, each way and that…

It was entrancing – hey, even the ground was all warp-y and liquid-feeling, the air was a fish-eye lens with a very accurate focus on her target. With all the people around them, mystery-gorgeous wouldn't even know that she had well, copped a teensy bit of a feel.

Hell, she wouldn't event nick his daggers – the slightly-more-blurry guy to his… left? Yeah, that one had the exact same things, hazier though. Must be only an enchantment.

* * *

><p>Elean was just an average person stuck in the middle of a festival and lacking some drinks. And the money for said drinks – he had invested in a couple of weapons held by an exceedingly inebriated salesman after coughing up roughly the correct amount of money and some small golden-tan pebbles dislodged from a clean street.<p>

A street sort of unlike this one, with maybe one or two partygoers stumbling around broken bottles on the ground and shredded banners. Of course, a shove or two were to be expected, but he was very carefully keeping a look on his recent acquisition and-

Sq- oh Light, he can't believe this is really happening to him –ish, and a pale lilac hand is fumbling in the air roughly level with the hilt of his new dagger.

Needless to say, he did whirl on the drunkard female – who did quite a passable work of dodging for a simple crook – and immobilized the still-twitching limb.

For roughly the time-span of a couple of seconds though – the absurd cloud of dust kicked up from nowhere did impair his restrain-the-gawker actions.

* * *

><p>Some blocks away, after a mad dash that totally wasn't induced by the brief moment of being caught red-handed, Xishiori just pants breathless back to the wall, wondering what type of an enchant allows an ally to back you up.<p> 


	79. Ghosts

Setsiria stalked the bone-white halls with practiced ease, shrugging between veils of poked-through light and avoiding the peeking roots without sparing a glance downwards. Here and there, ruined furniture stands out – a busted chest dim red with age, a couple pieces of broken weaponry, a rickety table still holding an immaculately dusty cloth with a jug of stagnant water.

It wasn't a crypt per se, but she had been tasked with scouting out new recruits. Or whatever – there had once been many manors and minor cottages sprawled out along Tirisfal, and even more villages. The undead hadn't searched or used the resources of all of them – their aim had always been of a more military nature and where best to find fresh corpses than a battlefield after all?

Still, they were apparently caught in a state of becalmed peace, with no easy way to refill their ranks or acquire parts for 'medical' services. So Setsiria had ended up saddled with civic duties and packed off to a spot on the large faded maps that probably housed, well, a house or two.

Since she was in one, at least they had guessed well. Although this one had been either evacuated or perused by the Scourge previously (the broken weapons were a hint, even if they were more like ancient pitchforks, axes and unusual cutlery). To top it off, Setsiria hadn't found any bodies – or humanoid ones at least. A couple equine skeletons lay entangled near what may have been a paddock, what looked like a well-gnawed on and extremely rotted bovine was in the remains of a fenced-off grazing area along a couple more remains of what may have been the same. The house had plenty bloodstains and gouges to prove a past event, but no corpses slept uncomfortable on the ground.

A small dirt-gray mouse scraped and screeched by, as many had done previously. Setsiria didn't react to this – she had a couple as store and roommates, but she did start at the keening noise emanating from the wooden wall to her right. Before the sound could get closer, a spell had been woven and black light limned the length of wall.

Two figures became stuck to the eerie radiance, voices ululating and disturbingly non-ethereal long-nailed hands clawing the air. One was hooded to the point of facelessness, long sleeves melding and obstructing the weapon-like hands. The other looked still like… a fairly average man, hair slightly long, face hollow and dictated by angles that reek of undeath.

Of reduced use, Setsiria notes – incorporeal undead fall on the extremes of their spectrum, and these don't seem to be as commanding as a banshee or sufficiently intelligent as to serve as citizens. But she marks both ghosts down, and finishes her run of the place, adding to the count a bedraggled younger man-spirit and a crow-like spirit with uncanny feminine aspects.

Well, she's free now. Time for some real duties, as soon as she returns.


	80. Silence

Xishiori might be the queen of thieves. Xishiori might be the greatest assassin, feller of kingdoms after a single prick of her daggers. She might be Death's own chemist, concocting brews of lethal potency with ease and liberal amounts of alcohol-

And silent isn't one of her traits, despite her work choice. She is boisterous, loud and the only quiet thing about her is the cat-like tread, the blinks, breathing. Xishiori will leap out from an alcove, hollering all of the way down, and still catch targets unawares.

She will throw the smoke bombs in a noisy manner, and the ones that create noise will drown in the sound of her voice and the clunking of targets reacting to her distractions.

She can't resist laughing like a deranged person as she pulls an empty vial from her pack and removes the stopper.

And yet, the lack of silence seems to not be detrimental. _A loud noise throws their prey off_, she'll say. _They don't expect the obvious._

(Not to mention, Xishiori has never really explained to them that, well, her gear has been subject to enchantment experimentation, with successful results…

Such as a frankly awesome silencer effect.)

* * *

><p>A.N. – this one is for a friend of mine who actually roleplays her rogue that way…<p>

See you around!


	81. Questioning

"You didn't…?"

"Of course not, Rou. What do you think I-"

"Well, the list is quite lengthy-"

"Dumb?"

"No, Le-"

"Moronic?"

"-that's a synonym and you-"

"I can keep at them all day. No dodging the questioning, Rouhanne."

"Says the one who just threw this at me! I was just-"

"I swear on _both_ my pinkies-"

"Man, I thought we _outgrew_ that!"

"_Ahem._ I swear to high Nether that I most _certainly _did _not_-"

This time, a long round of bleating interrupts the mage perched on a statue's shoulder. Between the large herd of sheep and the curled staff liberally decorated with ribbons and arcane trinkets, Ledai does look like a shepherdess, if the smatterings of texts and weaponry spilled out in the wide avenue are ignored along with the quite too urban setting.

"- polymorph all of these people on purpose. Or alone."

"Yeah, because just being sheep-ed is a spontaneous event-"

"_And_ the huge crowd of dissidents was annoying me and about three other guys out of our robes."

"Oh, because you wouldn't like seeing-?"

"Keep raising the questions and I just may have a little holy lamb…"

"Aww, so no pretty boys-?"

"_Baa baa_ Rou sheep…!"


	82. Learning

Mirae takes a long look at the plethora of equations and ratios that are crammed in a small board. The procedure is complicated, requiring delicate balance and precise timing, not to mention unflinching concentration. She scrunches back the obstructing white sleeves of her robe and pushes the goggles closer to her eyes.

It's her lucky charm. The trick of fidgeting with her eyewear, or pulling down the hoods, or twirling the tip of her right ear absently – it's more of a ready check than a conscious action, and no amount of repeats of even the simplest procedures has managed to shake off the habits.

She mumbles something, loud enough to be heard but not understood. A clear red drop glistens at the end of a long-necked vial before plummeting down into another half-filled with what looks to be dust-grey powder and a vibrant blue fluid. Next to her, a small bang is heard – an experiment gone wrong. A fit of coughing. She makes a note to send a healing incantation that way, but after she ensures that everything in her front is done alright.

The gnome besides her sends her a thumbs-up sign barely caught in her peripherals – great, Aurie made it. The friend waves a stopper-capped vial in the air, mouthing something that maybe is 'three'…

Or 'six', more like. She's going faster and-

A dull thump is all Mirae registers. That and the very interesting striations in the wooden ceiling and whoa, Aurie's hair can't really be that shade of pink. Oh, and the teacher's lecture from the front of the Alchemy Laboratory, reciting off particular bits of error details.

"And that's what happens when adding too much Gromsblood tincture to an incomplete Major Mana Potion. Don't worry, apart from being knocked down not much damage was done. It's all part of the learning process. Now if you will…?"


	83. Dead

The ground is cold, stiff, ruinous. Cyanotic grass needling through flimsy armor and punching perfectly-aimed through rust-soaked robes. A tangle of weapons and stinking matter bundled obscenely out on the fields – it's sort of expected and sort of looked down upon. Adventurers are expected to be somewhat better than this, death-stained and consuming and messy.

Not her though. The girl at the edge of the dyed and dying grasses. Mussed clothing, as is common of post-battles and barely woken people. Hair a bird's nest and she must be accustomed to it, since she doesn't try to slick it down with a bit of the magic that clings obsessively to her bony fingertips. Shadow magic doesn't work like that, and this she knows every bit as well as a couple other undeniable things.

The warrior cuddling with the lance isn't sleeping on shift. The large cougar curling lengthy along another body might be, but that thing has always been that immobile. The hunter that had tagged along was disappeared and she thought that hey, she did have a trigger-temper for defectors from defectors.

It's not like any of them had that delicious decadence to look forwards (or backwards) to anyways. That she knows same as her shadow spells and the fiery dooms she rains down and the chill of darkness and-

The priestess wasn't too drunk either, spilled artlessly over the pool of reddish-brown and chunks of metal and spellcraft. Shoulders too twisted, even though she had shown them how far she could do that – Setsiria had envied her a lot, for that and her abnormally common name. Which…

No, it's not that she can't remember a thing about previous save from-

Long loud baying calls and suddenly realizing that no, a dry throat isn't ggod for casting despite the acoustics and oh how she wants a heal on her now and sooner if possible-

She looks down, eyes trailing down the ugly patterns on the best robe she has. She knows better than anything the thread count, the not-so-intricate patterns, the way it is ripped down through the chest to reveal not-quite grayish skin underneath, clotted stitching and a couple of the hair-thin tubes that some but not all engineers and the like use.

'The like' use. She isn't sleeping either, and Setsiria isn't sure she is the correct side of awake either but-

"Hello, m'lady. I'm Cato Whitborough, or simply Cato to the newly awakened such as you."

He's halfway to skeletal, Setsiria notices, and three-quarters over the way to dead. She lifts her right hand, still wearing what looks like a tattered glove – and those were her last pair too- checking it out. The odd kinks that have to be there. A scar twining round her ring finger, half her pinkie rotted and vanished.

"Oh, shocked are you? Worry not, for Death is such a nice hostess…"


	84. Halloween

Rouhanne slathers more war paint across her face. Arms. Legs. Stomach, and pretty much anywhere she can reach. Fiddles with the harness straps – she hasn't really grown into it yet, but just you wait a year or two more. She'll put those orcs and tauren to shame when that happens, oh yes Rouhanne will. But that will (probably never) be later- for now, it just has to not fall off slender shoulders and keep itself from trailing on the ground. She polishes her weapon a bit more and it's such a mirror that she catches the face of the warrior closest to her in the reflection.

A perfect, fear-instilling troll war mask framed by a sword's edge. She flicks a sign of approval backwards before returning to her own preparations. The time-honored lyrics to a battle chant, the readjustment of the best battle spoils she's earned on her frame. A beaded belt, heavy plated pants that Rouhanne has daubed with dyes and such just for the fun of it, a couple rings and a heavy necklace.

(She nicked the last from Nandriel's drawers, poor guy, but it's actually hers and only there for safekeeping, so there.)

A couple hand signals and her whole group has gathered attentively at her flanks. Bedecked in the rewards of blood, sweat and thunder; raring with pent-up energy, they look already deadly. Rouhanne pities the poor souls in their path.

She lifts her weapon and gets some awed noises in reward- it pays to have an oversized weapon at times like these. Issues a command, grinning broadly and she feels the paint stretch itchy against her skin.

They charge, surging over dislodged pebbles. Their weapons rattle, the battle cries echo eerily off the stone walls and the organization is awful, but it fulfills its purpose magnificently.

A door is burst open, hinges slammed off and the soft chiming of a perturbed bell drowned out by cheers and whoops. They have taken down a mighty foe: one of the glass globes that are chock-full of Setsiria's good candy, its sweet guts spilled all over a not-so-dirty floor. The shopkeeper is wearing a bored expression, surveying the damage with a look that says that this is common, even if the kids are in fairly elaborate costumes and the garish décor for Halloween is somehow still up after the dynamic entry.

"Rou, did you just offer to take charge of some orphanage's kids for the night?"

The answer is a gleeful cackle and a fistful of candy thrown up in the air. Children scramble to reach the falling treats, piling their treasures up and even flaunting the borrowed costumes in the shop. A couple are balancing on tables, a group is figuring out how to join the paladin on one of the highest shelves.

Setsiria sighs and points out to one of the kids- a goblin girl, pockets crammed with sweets and a plan to resell them for buttons in her head, no doubt- that Rouhanne used a small rope ladder.

"And I might be willing to lend you a copy if you get her down in less than a minute. She'll clear the supplies right off, that one will. Bad for business, Rouhanne!"

"Aww, c'mon! I paid you already and it's Halloween!"

"Chocolate coins don't count."

"You know, not all of them were chocolate."

"I hope for your sake that you are kidding."

Another fistful of candies, these shot at Setsiria's face and missing by a wide margin.

"Oh, it's on now. Free samples to whoever brings her down!"

"Traitors!"

* * *

><p>A.N. – hey there. I guess that even the way-out-of-the-timeframe prompt is evocative of the week I had… apologies? Thanks a million for waiting it out so patiently!<p>

And Pandaria Beta is on, people! Bring on the Pandamonium!


	85. Am I cute?

The comb passes unhindered- finally- through the reddish-blonde locks. They don't really fall elegantly on her face, and she hasn't managed to hide the wide smattering of freckles. She should've been able to do that, dammit. But camouflage cover wasn't appropriate for this situation in any case and Ritsu had run out of the 'normal' method long ago.

Now came the hard bit.

"Am I cute, Tas?"

A squawk.

"No? Well…" She picked her hair up, twisting it around a little bit.

"Now?"

Chirp. Squawk… growl?

"Oh. So…"

A simple tail, held with a pin.

Trilling noise, chirp squawk squawk.

"… I swear, if that actually means 'go back to the first try', I'll skin you."

An apologetic noise she's heard countless times.

"Oh, I don't mean it, you cute thing. Who's my guard bird? You're my-"

Now, it should be an unwritten rule that courting boyfriends never ever enter a lady's abode uninvited. Much less before she's ready or in the middle of a very important Tasserein-feather fluffing.

She didn't get to see how Nandriel had prepared himself. Which really wasn't a pity, after the poor fool tried to defend both their honors via a semi-fancy escapade and losing a tie, a glove and his spare pair of goggles in the process.

But Ritsu does regret-

"Hm, didn't think you actually went for the cute girl look-"

-not much-

"Doesn't suit you much though. Liked you better with the-"

A long, annoyed whistle that can be heard almost half a city away. A shrill sound of impending doom and-

"Oh for all the-! Hold the nether on!"

Ritsu decided to indulge in cackling, just for this once. Not like Nandriel would mind her not acting cute, won't he?

* * *

><p>A.N. – hey there guys. By the way, the next prompt is sort of impossible by WoW standards, since they haven't discovered the joys of the Seventh Art yet. Meaning that I need a substitute for 'Movies', which will be left up to you…<p>

Of course, try to answer before the weekend for the bonus. In the meanwhile, I'll just skip prompts forwards until the next one I can do in the setting.

(This will happen again for: Computer, Playing on the Console, Mobile Phone and Cosplay prompts… yeah, odd challenge I'm using but hey, liked most prompts!)

See you!


	86. Party

The average adventurer is a quite out-of-the-average type of being. And not only because of the willingness to embark in bizarre endeavors, the half-fledged kleptomania and the nigh-apocalyptic power that seems to be so common among them.

Their most defining trait seems to be laughing in the face of danger.

That quality, in and of itself, isn't exceedingly uncommon. Many people can attest to that, even when their dangers are only just above-normal height falls or beginner courses in combat arts. Gladiatorial brawlers regale each other with the stories of victories past, same as scraped school children. So, what would make this such a trait in an adventurer?

Take Reessaide, for example. So far, the guild has trusted him with a very important, very crucial bit to their successes in the battlefields. And, joy of joys, he'll display this small task right now.

A bit of magic unfurling (which is another trait, but it shall be dealt with at another date). A couple whoops from other people- there is an elf, somewhat inebriated, cheering with the bottle in the air. A dwarf mage whomps the butt of her staff on the ground, lifting bits of ash for a half-hatched chick to chase; a couple more warriors are setting up something just beyond an alcove holding something dangerous.

Reessaide moves away from a small contraption- a toy train crawling around in wide circles to the assorted cheers of people. A small gnome-robot being dispatched to silence it, the scents of miniature feasts being ready for the assembled people.

A loud pop intercepted by a couple well-aimed spells. This is their time, alleged last moments, and they intend to-

"Party! I refuse to run into this without enough cheer, liquid or not, in my system!"

"Cheers to that!"

So far as it's been reported, only adventurers have the capability of almost wasting off before the grim fandango, to sing along with death's dance and even invite her for some beer.

But, so far as they are concerned, it's not a proper raid without the (historically honored) partying. Besides, some drinks, cheer and mild theft?

Yeah, it's pretty soft compared to what they do.


	87. Swimming

She tests the water warily, barely dipping a hoof into the smooth surface. Viasha's robes are hiked up to about knee-height and the exposure of leg is something she won't be repeating in as long a time as she can manage. Removing the limb from the water, she glares at the ripples spreading across the surface. Somewhere far away enough to warrant treading water, a light-damned little lady lost her light-damned necklace and why oh why did Viasha ever accept to do this small little act of charity?

"_Gah!"_

_Squeaky noise and Viasha suddenly becomes aware that the small bump she almost tripped over was a girl at a pool's edge. Squalling about something. Sounded like being hurt and whining about something lost in the lake and how oh, she'll-_

_((A little draenei girl stretching her hand off into purple ether and oh please, they have to come back from there, right? It looks climbable enough and either ways…))_

Urgh. Viasha hates the little depressive flashbacks too damn much. More so when she, a mage from deepest fiery inferno, is forced to go swimming. Swimming and hiking her robes up to her knees and be watched by an eager little she-devil who is kind of frantically pointing at a muddy stretch of pool bed not too different from any other.

Ah, but she is in this already and-

Leap.

_It's freezing! Oh for-_

Click and snap and with the sudden illumination of a magic-based fireball the small doll is clearly visible and-

Squish.

Kick off the ground and damn _it, I'll be scraping mud off my hooves for the whole day tomorrow._

Lifting the doll clear off the pool and making a point of looking as annoyed as she possibly can to the (okay, maybe just a tad cute) child now squealing with joy.

_Last time I do that, for anyone._


	88. Happy Birthday!

Meilea hates happy birthdays. She hates most involuntary things- blinking right when interesting things happen, a heartbeat racing out of control, sparks leaping right into her arms.

(Although that's just exuberant fire and she loves the spirit so much, she'll let it leap and bound towards her all it wants. Just, please, don't singe Meilea's things so often.)

But the most annoying thing about birthdays?

It isn't suddenly getting gifts- she likes that a bit. Or having everyone start every conversation like that, as if they had been hit by a witless spell.

It's suddenly forgetting how many years she was now, and misplacing a bunch of decades and loose years every so often because, of course…

Not only a lady never says her age (or likes it said), but she has been hit by too many time displacements already.


	89. Fight!

It's a bare breath away. The obnoxious exhibitioner of an arbiter in gaudy quartered black-and-white silks stands boisterous, beautiful, bizarre.

"On this corner-"

A roar, dulled yet deafening, surging through rippling crowds. From the tingle in shaken bones to the pump of adrenaline. You're primed, ready; the shoving of light-blue bangs behind your ears in no way shows nervousness.

You're also in denial, but you can't afford to show such a thing. Not now when pairing up to dance the grim fandango, hand death-gripping the trusty weapon.

"And, against her…"

You haven't missed the name. Xishiori- of course she is undefeated. No one but the arbiter ever has been defeated and returning. The crowd's elation swells again in a muddled din, rumbling and you see her from the other side of the arbiter.

Predatory, crouching slightly.

"Now, what you have been waiting for!"

You're tense. Animalistic and hoping pure instinct will deliver you from this bastardry.

"The grand finale!"

You pick up on her shifting stance, the slight fall of someone about to make a dash and the twitch of her weaponry.

"The epic, the one-and-only all-important…!"

Now, now and forever hold your peace-

"Fight!"

Without thinking, you hurl the weapon. You're a priest, you think- this is a completely dumb choice of action and-

The weapon makes the lazy arc of destiny. Lands decisive in the middle of Xishiori's chest and you're loading up an incantation to ensure your-

"_Na, 'ts not fair to go around throwing the pillows in a fight, much less with the levitating thingy!"_

"_All is fair in love and war, Xi-"_

"_Well then-"_

Sneak, stealth and back-hand backslap with a pillow that so completely musses your light blue hair.

"_Now the fight's officially on!"_


	90. Oh, Yeah?

She couldn't get the ground redder if she tried. Light, there wouldn't be enough red- wine, roses, poppies, pennants, blood- Rouhanne had gone out on all the tonalities. Watched them seep on the ground and her battered plate armor and the demon-tinged Outlands heavens. Right now, she couldn't really stand- so it was in the awkward lean-on-blade pose that Nandriel found her.

Or not as much as an awkward pose as one that highlights how duly awesome Rouhanne is, but that's not the relevant bit.

The relevant bit is the relief finally arriving via the laziest shadow caster-cum-healer in existence. Who dares call himself her brother after he almost misses the glorious aftermath.

And can state _jewels_ like this one.

"Oh, a battle here?"

_No, the demons just dropped dead at the sight of me, why dear._

"Seems you had it under control."

_No, I died and you're talking to my solid, slightly annoyed and waiting-for-a-resurrection spirit._

"Are you alright?"

_No, my armor just naturally dents into my sides and I've always had the couple open wounds. You know, the ones you say are such beauties._

"And you're the king of understatements, Nandriel. Mind-?"

"A heal or two. Although, you do know you're a paladin, right? All the Light at-"

"My command and you as a priest not allowed to have a girlfriend…remind me why I never pushed you into the healer studies?"

"Same reason for me not pushing you into the healer studies as well, you little-"

"Tank who just survived an onslaught the likes of which you'd never ever _ever _suffer, my dear little elder brother?"

"I yield… for this one time."

"Huh. Thought I'd never get you."

_And, of course no sarcasm involved…_

* * *

><p>A.n. – prompt not directly mentioned… but this is pretty much how we use 'Oh Yeah?' locally. Slash-sarcasm and all… think we actually had a conversation like this one with a friend somewhere else though…<p>

So, that's it for now and see you soon!


	91. Werewolf

A.N. – I should tag this as mildly offensive, but I remember the forums going haywire over the same things back in the day… and I thought the idea of a _very alien_ girl freaking out over mild fantasy somewhat funny, everything considered. So, feel free to argue back over reviews and yeah, she got a lot better eventually.

(Although she should've expected it, if she's already seen wolf-shape-shifters already. Bad Viasha is bad and redundant.)

* * *

><p>She's a damn mage. She knows the book in its mostly vague totality, even if Viasha herself doesn't use half the rules.<p>

She knows better than anyone wolves _can't_ cast spells. And Viasha doesn't mean the shaman taking on the spirit wolf's aspect, or particularly trickster druids. She means the wolves prowling unhindered around Stormwind and more particularly, the large pack in front oher seen through a spell's haze.

Sure, wolves clad in pretty refined if duly skimpy armor. Wielding weapons no normal animal could wield (_and even most humanoids, but Viasha glosses over that point._

_It doesn't do to be even more phased by this occurrence_.)

And of course it may just be a festivity. A carnival of some sort- the hunt most probably. A test of virility, Hallows' Eve if it has to. With the trite costumes overdone and the typical adventurer not bothering with putting away the prized armors and weaponry they all packrat away, of course, but a festival all the same.

Then one of them rears up from the four-legged stance. And no, it couldn't be a small pack member like the sleek almost-doe-eyed females that are the norm. Or even a lanky runt of a wolf- apparently, if they had to speak, they'd send in the alpha.

She's a damn mage. She can deal with overly large, intelligent canines, armed to the teeth (_and what teeth they are_) or not.

"Excuse me miss…."

_Okay, for a simple scorching spell the words are-_

"We're from Gilneas…"

_Oh Light they speak the common tongue and was it a human kingdom the one overrun by-?_

"And if you'd please direct us to the Mage's District we'd be most pleased. The city is quite lacking in…"

_Not my problem not my problem not my problem! Oh thank whoever grants the small favors that I graduated all the way back in the Exodar-!_

Viasha just cut across the next part of the ponderous, flowery speech about what Stormwind had or lacked.

"Just follow this channel all the way until you see the purple rooftops and the place reeks of marigolds. Alchemist just had to try that potion there, but who cares- then there's the bridge cross it and you're in. Take care!"

Then she doesn't watch them turn tail and leave- but _they_ do see the mage spin around and trot off brisk towards… who knows.

Another worgen lopes and stands by his leader's side, eyeing the retreating mage with wary distaste and a tad of curiosity.

"Odd customs these southerners have. And odd companions, if I dare say so."

"And no better phrase exists for that lady over yonder. Now, let's go to our business and maybe we'll see her catch another end of the migrations. Looked pretty shaken up, that one did."

Howls of laughter pealed up and around the worgen.


	92. I'll Protect You

The thing Reessaide most remembers about warrior training are the hulking shields. Wood-and-metal, carefully polished and emblazoned. Back then, they had been large enough to hide completely behind. Shiny enough to watch the speckles and fuzz of a beard and bushier eyebrows grow, or to discreetly fix the guild doublets and armor bindings.

Those days are long gone now- the shield now protects from his neck to his knees when held right. It has lost its characteristic sheen, scuffed and scratched and enchanted too much to make an image visible on top of ever-more-complex devices.

And yet, he still holds the same thing true.

Back then, it was to the pretty girls in Elwynn. To the kids that ran all the way around Northshire and the surroundings, who gasped at every bit of weaponry and play-acted dragon killers and fearsome demons.

Now, it still is to pretty girls and little kids. Only that now, the ladies have magic and daggers and maces at their sleeves. The kids are less infantile and more Reessaide's own age, down to the same antics and the portable armory they all haul everywhere.

"I'll protect you".

He still thinks that the best use that phrase had ever seen wasn't against an undead horde or the burning crusade.

It was, in actual fact, when he walked right into the warrior training and hauled up a shield in front of some other guy.

But he makes every single utterance live up to its gilded fame.


	93. With Animals

She isn't much of a ranger at this point.

Ritsu's been mumbling that under her breath for the last couple of hours. And she hasn't even gotten into the wilderness proper yet, although the sun is beginning to dip behind the horizon.

It's still damn far away from her small community in Eversong, or from the training halls and parks of Silvermoon. From any road, if Ritsu remembers… Darn. Saying 'wrong' makes her panic, 'well' is just fake reassurance.

She paces slowly through the slender trees and artistically-messy bushes, crouched low enough to lose her ruddy-brown hair in leaves and still have a clear sight for her bow. The string half-drawn, an arrow preemptively nocked.

"_Every year, they state a death toll for the ranger trainees- mighty high."_

"_Not considered a good year if at least ten don't make it- considered awful if no-one came near to death."_

"_They always sic a couple of the eldest, most vicious animals from an aristocrat's menagerie for variety and 'realism'… think one year we had phoenixes."_

_Don't think of your blabbering fellow idiots, don't think of them don't __**dare **__think of them, Ritsu Ther'sindal-_

A couple of stuttering steps just make the warnings blare and taunt in front of grassy eyes. The arrow flies.

There's a small pool of blood under an autumn-colored bush.

Drawing her long dagger, Ritsu crawls up to the plant, arm outstretched. Nerves a sparking mess. Eyes unblinking. Hair teased by wind and oh won't it shut up.

Of course it'd just be a squirrel, ruddy-red-brown and furry and dead by a shot through the throat. And Ritsu'd be hungry, but a bit rusty with survival skills beyond shooting and shelter.

Then again, it's not like she could set fire to the woodland alone, or draw exceedingly large prey. Her friends were notorious jokers, they wouldn't have set out at the literal crack of dawn if they weren't confident there were no mythical beasts out to traumatize rangers for a quota or kill them.

_But my teachers are nut cases, or at least some are. And why else set off so early if it wasn't for a decent head start and leaving all the dangers behind and-_

A crackling that sure as the Nether's burning isn't coming from the (pathetic) campfire Ritsu has set up. Close, too close- nocking an arrow would be futile at this distance, with no space to properly pull the bowstring and a cautious pace that can't let her scope out her foe. She'd heard of kal'dorei spies in Eversong- Ritsu is fairly sure she's-

A step- slow, unsure. Not a spy then- or at least, a wounded one who wouldn't risk an ambush against a prepared opponent. An animal, perhaps. Not a dragon-hawk with no legs to speak of, a Wretched seeking magic wouldn't be drawn to a normal flame.

Step.

Pause-step. Arrow nocked and sight set on the-

Step- area with the noises and-

"Squawk."

A hawkstrider…? Aren't all of those domestic and-

Chirping warbles, followed by another squawking sound and awkward pacing. A large feathered head blooms from behind shrubbery, followed by the tips of clawed talons.

"Crawk-squaw-k."

_What a way to whine._

_They're omnivores_, Ritsu recalls. And the squirrel on its spit is still somewhat rare and unembellished with spices. Feet shuffle- Ritsu catches a brief sight of a couple open wounds on the long, thin limbs. Less of the vibrant plumage usual on hawkstriders, more muscles.

_This bird's a brawler- a decent one at that, if it reached here._

And frankly, Ritsu wants a companion. A discard-able one like a stray wounded animal would be perfect for her graduation- maybe she'd even get a bonus for returning it to its stable.

"Crawk. Squaw-k"

"'S that the only thing you say?"

"Craw. Squawk."

"So be it."

She stared at it, passing over a bit of squirrel. More like nearly the whole thing, but Ritsu did think to pack rations enough for the two weeks this lasted.

It gobbled it up in more time than any starving animal had a right to, staring at the rookie huntress as if caught. Between awe and 'why did my righteous offering take so long', but caught nonetheless.

"Craw. Squawk."

"That your name?"

The same noise, slower maybe. Louder as well- Ritsu shushed him. It. Whatever- it still worked, to her surprise.

"Can't pronounce it. So… Dot-com okay?"

It means something ridiculous. Bean-(and a feathery thing which Ritsu never figured out). But it fits the bird, for the short while. Nod means okay, nod means another piece of squirrel and ruffling the short bristly feathers at the top of its not-bean-shaped-enough head.

Two weeks later, she thinks that maybe she should've picked something more dignified than bean-something for her faithful hound-cum-steed.

"Croak-squawk."

But then again, with that off catch-call of it, nothing else fit.


	94. Safety First

Xishiori was an accomplished rogue-walker. The entire feline tread spiel- feather light, nigh invulnerable to such minor things as falls, able to leap from building to building.

(And of course, she'd get a couple free cheats with her gryphon, but that wasn't pertaining to this)

This took practice. It was the dear, dear work of so many sorties out in the wilderness clambering (or flying, or falling down to) rocks, trees, whatever could support her.

This time? Oh, this time it was something more interesting than any little old tree. And yes, she maybe possibly might have cheated a little getting up here, but it's not like Xishiori wouldn't have been stopped. Rogue craft used or not, any and all priests and guards would've noticed her scuttling up the cathedral's gleaming white walls.

That's the trouble with human cities, Xishiori guesses. The astounding lack of concealing foliage and having the really nice buildings covered in moonlight sheen. But for now, Xishiori would do best to avoid her leisure activities in Darnassus, or any area close to it.

(Maybe the lack of trees is to make the skyline of Stormwind so iconic. All stoic walls and soaring towers, with the blanket of the sea humming a tune out nearby and not drowned out by animal night song)

A look down. For the thrill, the spice, the last check for any audiences that want to gather. They nearly never do, but at times, someone will gather around and gasp at the daring (stupid) elf marooned at the top of seemingly-impossible-to-reach buildings.

This time, there are spectators, and Xishiori wastes some time on grins and waves. Then, with both hands on the straps of her headgear and a stern face:

"Safety first!"

A quick adjustment of gloves and gear straps. A couple last oohs, and-

She's off, racing down, a blur on the immaculate clock tower , hollering all the way down in glee.


	95. Angel

It's not common, but Nalu has been called…

Well, it's a very Mirae-y thing. Something you'd call the saintly, tranquil healer. The girl more willing to rush to someone's aid, with a cleaner mouth and the wing-like lights hovering at her back.

Okay, Nalu wears those as well- if it's the best available thing; she's not going to sacrifice it because it looks Mirae-y. And when Nalu drapes the shadows around her, the ghostly things don't look overly out of place.

But no. Nalu still doesn't get that little word much. Banshee, yes; dark-slinger, eclipse, variations of sorceress, yes. And Mirae has tried so many times to explain that they are also creatures of judgment, somewhere, and were beings to fear and admire infinitely, for they had the Light's wrath or whatever prayer-book babble fit.

It's not common, but shadow-priest (and thanks very much) Nalu has been called _angel,_ of all things…

And what's appalling is that she is beginning to not mind.


	96. Ill

Setsiria groans for what seems the umpteenth time.

"Rouhanne, you are in full physical abilities and in a state that allows whining. Now get up and let's-"

Another high-pitched sneeze, ruffling stiff hair and making the undead warlock roll her eyes.

"-go now, no need for such-"

"Quit your whining you-"A fit of coughing unbearably loud- then again, Rouhanne has always defied her small size with an overly large attitude.

"I will, once you desist from taking, what was it…?"

"Sick leave."

"Oh, that. Since you do seem to be in good fighting form. Not counting the-"

Another coughing spell, as if on cue. Setsiria looks impassively on- sure, the paladin looks slightly on the greenish side of pale. Her eyes are duller, the coughs are a hindrance. But she has also been cursing like a well-salted goblin sailor and chugging down a pungent-smelling solution dubbed 'medicine'.

"That."

"You've never been ill, right?"

"A benefit of being dead. And you haven't realized you have the Light at your command, and therefore can cure your own disease, am I correct?"

Now it's Rouhanne's turn to groan in surrender and whine.

"You won't let me skip out on this?"

"Not if I can avoid it. Now get to it."


	97. Through the Fire

Meilea leaps, one two three, sparks dancing beneath her hooves. The embers are still burning, but the shaman refrains from uttering a prayer to the elements- it wouldn't be in the spirit of the test.

So she grits her teeth and does her best to ward off the stifling heat threatening to make her stumble down into a too-hot embrace. A couple daredevil breezes careen around her, one second toying coolly with dark locks, the other warm enough to make sweat bead on the draenei's neck. A snap of the fingers- or it might've been a nearby seared branch- the winds relay to another current. Maybe it's cooler, maybe it isn't, but it's all Meilea can do.

From further within the inferno, a voice beckons. In between crackles and leaping flares, it laughs and roils and commands the shaman to carry on forwards, unprotected as she is_. It's a test, _it says_, you should be able to pass such a small thing with ease. It could be a firestorm, why not, it_ answers to itself, and for a moment the blazes will surge and dance with too much vigor.

She retreats a little, hissing vehemently and stalling for a while. Darts around, for the fire won't give way yet, and makes a dead run to the center.

The figure is humanoid, in a very vague sense. Two arms, a wide face, a torso that sputters into smoke instead of legs. The elemental roars in approval and it's all Meilea can do to not be swept away by the pulse of heat and wind.

So she made it, it muses, and showers her with glinting sparks from one of its hands.

_Through the fire you've come. Now go back, little shaman-_

It pauses, bending at an exaggerated angle to better shy Meilea into compliance.

_-go back and lace the world in flames._

Meilea doesn't require too much prompting as she races back through the smoking sanctuary and back into the elder shaman's post nearby, where finally, a new totem awaits her.


	98. I'm So Excited!

Xishiori flicks her daggers eagerly for the umpteenth time, nearly fumbling the catch. She's bouncing every which way, shooting glances at everything and dropping into every shadow pouring across the (quite badly lit) hallway.

But for long enough, the arena has been eerily quiet, despite having a crowd fuming with energy on the sidelines and the battleground wasted red. And Nalu, instead of partaking in the last bursts of fear and adrenaline along with Xishiori, just waits. Tries to peek through the wooden doors- but the structure is too sound to allow even a glimpse beyond the gouged planks.

The knives go up again. They are caught, twirled, thrown. Nalu shoots a little bolt of shadow at one, just to make it spin out of control and thud to the ground.

"Look, I know you're excited-"

The noise from outside swells, rising whoops and catcalls. Nalu grins, although Xishiori probably doesn't see it. The knives spin in the rogue's hands. Steps clatter on the ground, a rapid pace set to the rhythm of the sounds outside and oh, they'll be going in soon.

"But save it for them!"

The doors swing slowly open, and the two elves dance into the fray, spells and blades launched into the enemy with laughter on their trail.

* * *

><p>A.N. – we're very very close to the end… so, before I forget, thanks! It's been a wild, crazily postponed and hopefully mutually enjoyable ride… well, I liked writing it. No idea if you liked reading it, but an 'author' can dream, right?<p>

So cheers to you for staying here, and thanks again!


	99. Avoiding

The undead girl doesn't elbow her way through a crowd. She finds it demeaning, and it's not like she has the musculature to back it up. Setsiria takes a glance at her arms and makes a weird noise- it's a hybrid between a moan and a scoff, caused by having her throat suitably ruptured by lady death and a clumsy mortician. The extremities themselves have the same cause as her voice, and are in the same conditions. So no shoving the burly orcs out of her way.

The undead girl doesn't click her bones to summon a demon to her aid. Last time she did so…

Well, the imp got trampled into ashes and paying a specialized priest for the heals through her nose wasn't a nice experience.

The voidwalker fell through a grating on the Undercity sewers- although why a grandiose sewer would have a smaller system within, Setsiria didn't know. And through too many in Orgrimmar, through a bridge crack in Thunder Bluff… no crowds in Silvermoon.

The succubus earned too many charges for indecent exposure and exhibitionism. Setsiria earned enough charges when she stood up to the guards to defend her minion and they charmed and cursed their way in and out of prison.

The felguard cleaved through one too many loiterers, and the axe was a hassle to swing in slim corridors. Plus, the shopkeepers didn't respond as well to the massive soldier outside their door- despite Setsiria assuring them that without a command, he's as docile as a horse.

(Unbroken, mind you- but a horse is the most blindingly domesticated unit they know. So a horse it is for her felguard.)

No, when Setsiria wishes to avoid a crowd, she just walks in. Head held high, and barely even weaving between the members of the throng.

It is highly amusing to watch them fall over themselves to avoid her and her particular aroma.

A.N. – second to last! Help me send this off big, okay? Just make sure it's read, at least a little!


	100. Kiss

Of all things, Ritsu doesn't kiss. That's a succubus's job, far as she cares- rangers don't play the game of relations. Or maybe she does, but really unofficially. At parties, where everyone's drunk on magic and expensive liquors and no-one remembers lips smashed against another pair or if they left with all their items on.

But not with Nandriel.

Of course, never with Nandriel. He's her technician, her benefitted friend -as if, and here Rouhanne chimes in with her cackles and pictures snapped with one of Nandriel's engineering trinkets.

So she sits at their usual bench in Silvermoon. Her hands flutter inside her knapsack, as they always do, and Ritsu mumbles praise and curses at her pet. It's usual, it's nothing special-

Nandriel getting dangerously-perfectly close and Ritsu doesn't elbow him on the ribs. Doesn't stay still, as always, and doesn't let his lips brush feather-light across her cheek.

She turns, and he has to have accuracy in the negatives to kiss her nose instead of her lips.

"You can't even kiss well. Wonder why I've-"

This time, Nandriel does… well, it's not an exemplary job. But it feels different, nice even, despite shrill squawking from her pet and Nandriel not holding her well.

"That's why, Ritsu. Only guy who'd stay with you sober."

"Hey!"

"Well, what do you think I've been doing? Half the men are in a constant polymorph for a reason…"

This time, she presses her lips to his.

"You aren't supposed to need help with that."

* * *

><p>A.N. – and it's over! Thanks for sticking with me for so long, through fire, flames, ice and irregular updates, hahaha. It's been wild, it's been a pleasure writing for you and I hope you had as much fun as I did :)<p>

So thanks for reading, thanks to those of you who left reviews and thanks for those who watched this. You've been great!


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